


The Adventure in Red and White

by SkyHighDisco



Series: World Stars [1]
Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Brothers stick together, Comedy, Epic Friendship, Fluff, Gen, Journey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27225883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyHighDisco/pseuds/SkyHighDisco
Summary: Jeremy, James and Richard find themselves on the grounds of Croatia in apocalyptic circumstances. To make matters worse, they have no cars. In order to travel across the entire country to their destination, they are going to need all the help they can get.
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson & Richard Hammond & James May
Series: World Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999462
Comments: 9
Kudos: 8





	1. The Apocalypse and The Jawas That Go With It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tadpole4176](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tadpole4176/gifts).



> It’s finally here! A mini-tribute to Tadpole4176’s “The Very Un-Grand Tour”, or “The Tiny Tour”, as I like to call it. And generally to all of her stories. If you are within the nearest border of reason, you can’t _not_ like them. They are blissfully, absurdly funny and even twice as cute and if you haven’t already, you go check them out. There will be no regrets, I promise. They are bound to fix your day if you’ve had a crappy one. 
> 
> Then there was Top Gear live event from Arena Zagreb where the trio gave several lines in Croatian and I just about died laughing. Some of it inevitably found its way into this fic as well.
> 
> Just decided to take a break from all surreal horror stuff and give it a go at some adventurous comedy.

“Point me to someone more confused than me right now and I won’t believe you”, Jeremy grumbles, crossing his arms.

James raises his arm, but a pointed look from his older colleague makes him reconsider and decide it really isn’t a time for jokes. He also decides that this must be the most inconvenient situation they have ever found themselves in.

Their initial destination was Bulgaria, where Andy and the crew would be waiting for them, and the three of them took flight in a single-engined light airplane which was also meant to be a part of the show, with set-up cameras on the inside and good scripted materials to cock about.

It was operated, naturally, by James, who took all time in the world for thorough final checks that took over half an hour during which time Jeremy complained for the first half and went to sleep sitting against a tree for the second.

Nevertheless, just about halfway in, there was the most horrifying, choking noise coming from the engine that sounded horrifically like malfunctioning and the next second buttons began blaring and they were losing altitude. Richard started screaming and Jeremy begged for his life, but James wasn’t joking. Firm amount of concentration mixed with fear in his eyes told him that a) this wasn’t supposed to happen, and b), it wasn’t a hidden, scripted joke only he and the director were aware about. It was a genuine, real problem.

James told them to hold on tight and prayed the nose of the plane didn’t plummet front-first and somehow, by God’s grace, he had managed to steer them in a spiral, lifting the nose with little control he was left with and seconds after the propeller stopped turning completely, land the plane in the middle of a wide stretch of grass scattered by water fountains. Their bodies jerked back and forth and had there been no firm straps, James would’ve been flung out the windshield. The plane skidded forward, boring a deep rill in fine, green grass, sliding for meters until inertia and friction finally stopped the plane.

After spending a great deal of time trying to remember how to breathe, Richard started yelling at James who couldn’t, at first, find a voice to defend himself, Jeremy tried not to start crying and then came the rapid wave of process of checking first themselves, then each other. Thankfully, Jesus must’ve taken the wheel at some point because nobody was seriously hurt, aside from a lump on Jeremy’s head when it collided with the ceiling, a scratch on Richard’s arm, and James’ beaten knee.

After extracting themselves from the plane and getting into another round of yelling among everything else and James finally having a chance to profusely sprout to his own defence, Richard had mind to point out something strange. He managed to shout down the older two to shut up and get them to listen.

Aside from the fountains, there was no other sound. Looking around would prove to offer a strange scene.

All sorts of means of transport. Buses, trams, trucks, dozens, hundreds of cars collided with each other, T-boned, scattered around and off the road like children’s toys. Some were crashed into the walls and buildings, and one was nose-dived into one of the water fountains. It was like one massive, single accident.

As far as they could see, there were no people around. Not a single, lonely, lost-looking soul. Which perplexed them even more.

It all looked, for the lack of a better word, apocalyptic.

Trying to call someone or establish any means of communication was futile, as they quickly found out. The cameras and their phones were dead, in spite of perfectly-functional batteries, walkie-talkies didn’t work and the sat-nav has died as well. They were completely and utterly cut off.

Thinking it’s a good thing that they at least managed to crash in civilisation, Jeremy pointed out it was best to figure out where they are for starters.

It took a bit of walking, but the further they went into the city centre (and the more Jeremy started to claim the place looked painfully familiar), the more oddities they encountered. Dark, shut-down shops, offed traffic lights, still buildings and silent streets. It was truly like God has forsaken this place.

The shop names are unfamiliar and there are no companies to attempt and identify where they are, but then they get to the mere centre, big square with a man on a horse and a pointing sword and Jeremy’s sense of deja-vu is coming close to the brim. But then…

“I know where we are”, James’ voice sounds off from somewhere. He points at the near souvenir shop. It had a red, white and blue flag above the door with a red and white-checkered crest in the middle. “This is Croatian.”

Jeremy instantly slaps his forehead. “That’s right! That’s why it all seemed so familiar! Like Vienna, but smaller” he instantly looks smug. “Good news, chaps. I know where we are. This is Zagreb.”

Richard blinks. “Where is that?”

“You know, the one country around the corner of Italy, don’t be stupid Richard, we’ve been here multiple times”, Jeremy pauses before adding, “They kicked us out of the late World Cup semi-final.”

“Oh.”

“The one you’ve been crying about because of that loss for three days after”, Jeremy smirks.

“Everybody gets a bit emotional during World Cup”, Richard tries to defend himself.

“Alright”, says Jeremy, stepping over a downed wooden beam bigger than himself laying in a pool of dust, looking up to see the towers of the Zagreb cathedral, tip severed under a sudden attack of a recent earthquake. “But we still don’t know why everything looks like second version of Pripyat or if it’s all just a big set-up.”

“Maybe Bulgaria was just a farce”, Richard suggests, watching James observe a discarded small, ball-shaped, transparent contraption akin to Rubik 360 toy.

To Jeremy’s puzzled look, Richard explains: “You know. Maybe we weren’t actually meant to go to Bulgaria. Maybe cameras were there for our reaction.”

“Are you suggesting James was meant to kill us?”

“I’m saying that plane failure and this whole situation are connected somehow, and I don’t believe that it’s a coincidence it would happen exactly when we are flying over Croatia.”

“You think Wilman is waiting for us here somewhere?”

Richard shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, maybe. I told you, this is all bloody weird and my guess is as good as yours.”

“Well—”

“ _Ow!_ ”

They turn to look for the source of shouting. It’s May, rubbing at the back of his head and messing up his hair into lumps, expression of pain and irritation tugging at his face. The Rubik 360 is rolling down on the ground, clearly having been dropped while James’ hand tended to nursing his head.

“James?” Jeremy calls out.

“Something just hit me at the back of the head”, James complains, looking around, first up at the shop displays, empty windows and still streets, then down to find the source of an impact. It took a little looking, but then he spots a small, white, round thing in the grass which deviates from the surroundings.

“It’s a golf ball”, Richard says, matter-of-factly.

James crouches forward and reaches for it, but he is hit again, and this time Jeremy and Richard see it. As James shouts and jumps again, they double over, pointing remorselessly at their injured friend.

“Heaven’s sake”, James grumbles, more annoyed this time, rubbing at the sore spot and looking behind.

“I don’t think you should touch that”, Jeremy cackles.

“I think you should”, Richard insists, wheezing, hands supported on his knees, a huge grin wiping away all the traces of panic he was sporting during the plane crash.

James looks like he is about to give up on everything when he spots movement in a nearby bush and pins his gaze to the spot.

Out of nowhere, a small head pops out, rustling the leaves and this time, it is Richard who jumps with a yelp. It appeared to be a small, big-eyed, brown-haired kid. He wore antique-looking goggles on top of his head. James freezes.

“Hello”, Jeremy greets carefully.

The kid blinks, then abruptly jumps out of his hiding spot. He is about ten years old, maybe younger, with a long leather coat that would look impressive on an adult, but on a person this small, it only sparked adorableness. But it was an object in his hand that made the trio recoil and instinctively hold their hands up — a small, plastic potato gun.

They look in stunned silence as the kid skips into view and, paying no heed to the three men, snatches the ball, gives them all a two-second wary stare — and runs off.

“Should we go after him?” says Richard, recovered as soon as the kid’s eyes were off him. “Maybe he knows what all this is about.”

A shrug from Jeremy is obviously a sufficient answer as Richard doesn’t wait on any other confirmation before running off after the small child. Jeremy throws a helpless, lip-pressed look over his shoulder to May and follows Richard. Cursing quietly under his breath at having to run, television or not, James follows suit.

Jeremy becomes worn-out fairly quickly and gives up, content on following Richard with his eyes, but perhaps because he is engined by curiosity, he keeps the speed walk, intent on not losing Hammond out of sight.

They needn’t have followed long. The kid runs into one run-down building that might’ve once been a large factory or a shopping mall, disappearing into the dark abyss of the doorway. Richard pauses at the gaping front door frame, torn between trying to see where the child ran to and looking back to see where his friends are.

During the entire ordeal, Richard notices, as well, that he hasn’t seen another living person. The thought is enough to make him shudder, but it’s long past before Jeremy is there, panting like he ran a marathon, bending over to clutch his knees.

“I’m too old for this” he wheezes, sounding like he’s about to vomit his lungs. Richard is trying to peer into the darkness.

“Where is Slow?” Jeremy asks after another moment, like Richard is the one to know.

“Come on”, Richard says determinedly and steps into the darkness, nearly tripping over fallen remnants of walls and crumbling pillars, floor littered red with fallen dust of crushed bricks.

“Are you sure he went in there?” Jeremy sniffs sceptically.

“He is the only living thing I’ve seen in this place”, says Richard with unusual determination. “And I would like to find out why. Are you coming or not?”

Jeremy turns around and, seeing James turn the corner and making sure he’s spotted them, carefully follows Richard inside.

Because the building is big and with a lot of openings, they can approximately see where they are going. Richard hears rattling of broken tiles behind them and quickly turns around, but it is just James.

“Hello?” he calls out, fascinated at the echo his voice provides.

“You’re too loud, you’ll scare him”, Jeremy whispers urgently.

“You’re not exactly the epitome of quiet, now, Jez, are you?”

“Yes, but you are normally loud and I don’t think it helps with startled children.”

“I don’t think your face does, either.”

“Will you two knock it off?” James says, now by their side. Something in his voice, maybe caution, a half-whisper, makes them look over. He is staring at something ahead. “We have company.”

There is barely enough light, especially for Jeremy who considers himself almost blind when it comes to spotting things in the distance, but behind a short wall, that might’ve once been full-sized, half a head is peeking out, sporting a familiar shape of old goggles on top of the head.

“Hey there”, Jeremy calls out, smiling and takes a step forward, showing his palms. “It’s okay, there’s no need to shoot.”

Startled, the head sinks down behind its shelter, hiding the eyes.

“Stop it, you ape, your ugly face is scaring him”, Richard smacks the back of his hand against the taller man’s chest. Jeremy frowns down at him, but before he can vocally produce an insult of his own, Richard steps forward and crouches down a little.

“Come out”, he calls in the friendliest manner he can, adding a gentle smile. “It’s alright, we won’t hurt you.”

The kid hesitates for a moment, but then suddenly straightens up (no gun in hand, thankfully) and suddenly there is more eyes, more sounds and more movement from various places in the nooks and corners and doorways, and in a moment, there is a small bunch lined up two-three meters before them, staring up at the trio. A colourful, strange bunch of eight-to-ten-year-olds, all surprisingly shorter than Hamster. Three boys and one girl. The tallest of them reached Richard’s armpit and with that wild, dark, curly hair looked surprisingly similar to a child version of Jeremy. Same mischievous, cunning look in his eye.

“Oh”, says Jeremy, dumbfounded. He wasn’t expecting that. “Look, there’s more of them.”

“Brilliant observation, Jeremy”, chuckles Richard.

“Do they have potato guns?” James asks, moving a little to hide behind Jeremy.

“I don’t see them”, says Jeremy, and then, off the bat, asks, “Does any of you have a phone that works?”

“I don’t think they understand you, Jez. Remember where we are?” James points out logically.

“Hang on, chaps. We _do_ speak Croatian”, Jeremy announces, arms spread. “Remember when we were here in 2014?”

“That’s a bit far-fetched”, says Richard with a sour face. “We only said two and a half sentences.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hammond. Communication is the widest range of human connections and shouldn’t be limited to anything as mundane as a language barrier.”

Jeremy tries to dig up the lines he thinks he remembers, but they come out less gracefully than he might’ve wanted them to, but it didn’t matter because kids don’t react at all. Not a giggle, not a snort, not an eye-roll, not a blink. Nothing.

“James, you try”, Jeremy eventually sags, looking at his friend desperately.

“Alright”, says James, dutifully, stepping up to take his place and clearing his throat.

“ _Imam jako mali pimpek_ ”, he spells delicately, axing through each word of his line and wrapping it up with a hopeful smile.

 _His_ response is followed by the most curious reaction. One of the kids, the mini-Jeremy one, looks over to the boy with glasses, with an odd, eyebrow-crooked, awkward expression. Not quite what agreed to James’ expectations.

“Uhm…” Jeremy begins, shivery smile wobbling at the edge of his lips. “I don’t think you said it right.”

“The hotel bar bloke told us it meant _‘we come with great regard’_ ”, James insists, confused and mildly irritated.

“Let me try again”, says Jeremy importantly, stepping up and when he clears his throat, he sounds more important. Then he begins, completing the slowly, clearly articulated sentences with absurd gestures.

“We”, he presses his palms against his chest, “come from far away. England.”

James watches Richard join in Jeremy’s story, imitating something that could possibly be drinking tea and stomping of the queen’s personal guard, although it looked more German than British.

“We were flying in a plane”, Jeremy continues and Richard dutifully spreads his arms and makes engine noises and then spirals a finger to the floor with a descending whistle at Jeremy’s “and crashed.”

“And here we are now”, Jeremy spreads his arms. “Does any of you”, a finger circling the line of children, “have a phone?” A thumb and a pinkie spread outwards by the ear.

For a few seconds, both parties are still.

Then the mini-Jeremy leans in to his colleague with glasses never breaking eye contact and whispers in English adorned in a mild, Slavic accent: “Do you think there was accident?”

“Oh, look, they understand us”, Richard rolls his eyes, hoping the blush creeping up his cheeks isn’t very visible in half darkness.

“We don’t dub our movies”, giggles the girl.

“Who _are_ you lot?” splutters Jeremy, torn between feeling bewildered and insulted.

The boy with thick plastic glasses pushes the optic aid further up his nose, but it immediately stubbornly slides back down and when his eyes become challenging rather than approachable, the atmosphere in old, rotten complex becomes more electrified. “Who are _you_?”

“I asked first”, Jeremy protests stubbornly.

“You are in our _jazbina_.” Jeremy doesn’t understand the final word, but his mouth don’t spit mocking insults mainly because the level of English the kids already exhibit are far up for Jeremy to sink so low. Even so, he thinks he can pull it out of context as the word meant for this place.

“I can crush you with my shoe”, Jeremy crosses his arms.

“Sniper here shoots well”, the bespectacled boy gestures over his shoulder with a thumb, pointing at the tiny goggles-wearing boy who is fiddling with his potato gun, still looking warily at the three men; James, who was still shooting miffed daggers of annoyance at him, in particular. “He doesn’t speak. He is deaf”, the boy with glasses adds with an almost apologetic shrug.

“Alright. We seemed to get off on the wrong foot”, says Richard, lifting his hands before things could escalate any further south. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Hello”, he gives a small wave. “I’m Richard. This huge useless ape here is Jeremy”, a grumble from the tallest of the three, “and that grumpy old lady over there is James. And we haven’t come here to hurt you. Alright? So why don’t we all settle down and there will be no need for your friend there to use that little impressive gun.”

“Again”, warns James.

The boy with glasses seems to take a moment to process Richard’s words and the man wonders if he hadn’t said it slowly enough, but it turns out to be sufficient. Because the boy turns around and gestures something with a hand to the gunslinger. Whatever it is, it works because the smaller boy lowers the perilous contraption.

“Thank you”, breathes Richard, but then Jeremy opens his mouth again.

“Why do you all look retarded?” he wants to know, feeling less polite and definitely more irritated by the second. Probably because he was made stupid with communication-circus extravaganza and forced to run after some ankle-biters who are apparently well educated in disrespecting adults.

Frankly, they are a sight. They looked like they got spat out of some steampunk adventure movie. The potato-gun wielder looked like he came from the world where flying ships are the main means of transport. The kid with glasses was a mini-version of Indiana Jones sans the hat and whip, and the girl might have as well been the spawn of the forest elves.

The boy with glasses appeared confused, but before anything else could be said, James decides to be methodical instead of pissy.

“What happened here?” he asks, surprising himself with how gentle his voice came out despite annoyance. “Why does your city look like Germans just marched through?”

The kid shrugs. “Someone did something in main power station in Zagreb and it exploded. Some kind of wave. Maybe it affected technology too and spread everywhere because nothing that runs on fuel, gas or electricity works anymore in the circle of some hundred kilometres. No phones, no cars, no light, no radio. All gone.”

“Sounds like an EMP”, concluded Richard, who was in love with pop-science and has seen one too many sci-fi movies thanks to his daughters. “How long has this been going on?”

The kid looks to the girl and asks her something. She answers vaguely with a shrug and the kid looks back to Richard. “About a week.”

“Week?!” Richard stammers.

“And no cars at all?” Jeremy probs.

The boy shakes his head. “No cars.”

“And where are all the people?” asks Richard, genuinely concerned.

“We don’t know”, says the mini-Jeremy, seated on the short wall and bumping the heels of his sneakers on the dusty floor. “They are mostly home, if they want to be safe because some people started going around town doing bad things. Everything is mess. My mom says it’s not safe to be outside until things get fixed.”

“How come you are out here, then?” James wants to know.

“We love being outside”, he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Inside is boring.”

James was trying to find an opinion or a reason to support the mini-Jeremy’s thesis, but he honestly couldn’t find any.

“Is there a way for us to get a signal? Or establish any kind of connection at all?” asks adult Jeremy again, getting desperate now.

“Actually, there is”, says the little girl; she has this tiny voice that makes it barely possible not to pinch her cheeks. It doesn’t go in tune with her next words. “Mom tells me there is a functional local generator in the city of Split. It works on hydraulic hinges because that city is on the sea. I heard their phones work and planes can fly from there.”

“How do you know all this stuff? You are five”, James asks.

“I’m nine”, she protests.

“Alright, alright, show us this Split”, Richard rubs his forehead, not wanting to hear another pointless banter.

The boy with glasses reaches back and shrugs off the rucksack no one’s noticed until now from one shoulder, rummaging around for a moment with his tongue sticking out before finally fishing out a folded paper, which he unfolds and because he is so small he can barely spread his arms apart to fully unravel it. It was the map of Croatia.

Jeremy helps him unfurl it on the wooden plank supported by two clay hollow blocks which could pass for a table.

“Down here”, he shows on the tail of the country, far south.

“Wait, and we are… here?” Jeremy’s finger jabs the biggest orange bundle that was the capital city of Zagreb. “Well that’s… that’s _far_! How far is it?”

“More than 400 kilometers”, Genius says.

Jeremy gasps dramatically and grabs his chest. “Four hundred… without a car…”

“Don’t be a drama queen”, James brushes him off and leans over the map, muttering a quiet ‘cock’ at the fact he doesn’t have his reading glasses. It doesn’t look half as suitable for someone the kids’ age as he had expected. It was a fully detailed, real, legitimate map. “Is there a faster way than walking? And please don’t say riding a horse or I will take that potato gun of yours and show you how it feels to get shot by it.”

“There is one no-walk option”, the bespectacled boy runs a finger down a shimmery purple line somewhere in the middle of the country all the way down to the smaller orange bundle labelled Split. “It’s a non-electrified railway line. It begins in small town called Ogulin, here, and I know it works to Knin here”, a tiny finger goes to a spot about hundred kilometres north from the destination. “but I’m not sure about rest.”

“So what now?” Richard asks in a hushed voice when the three of them retreated farther back and brought their heads together to consider their next move.

“If I didn’t see what I saw and actually had a near-death experience I wouldn’t believe them, but seeing that I did…” Jeremy trails off, confirming the other two’s exact thoughts.

“We need to find a way to contact Andy”, Richard continues. “If he was receiving the feed from the plane when we crashed he knows what happened. And apparently the only way to do it is four hundred kilometres south.”

“But then wouldn’t it be smart to wait for them here?” asks Jeremy.

“I think it would be better to do as the children say”, says James, surprising everyone. With a suppressed eye-roll, he relays, “If we crashed in a biplane, imagine what this would do to their jet. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if we are to warn them, we must do it quickly.”

“You are right”, Richard realizes. “We have no choice. We have to go south.”

They look at each other and, realizing it’s the only way, simultaneously nod.

“Alright. So let’s recap”, Jeremy begins, counting on fingers. “Some electrostatic curtain is hanging in the air that takes down everything that moves, including James’ plane. You can’t kickstart cars, you can’t turn on motorbikes and there is no way I’m riding a bicycle, my balls can’t take it.”

“We walk”, says the voice.

The men turn.

Four little kids, each ridiculously different than the other, stand there lined up and their eyes say ‘ready to move’.

“No, you go home”, James waves them off with a hand like they were flies.

“It’s possible you get killed, kicked or robbed if you don’t know where to go or what to do, especially here”, says the boy with glasses, again pushing the too-big spectacles further up his nose which again stubbornly slide back down. “We can’t go with you out of the city, but we can at least help you get out of it safe.”

Jeremy, James and Richard exchange glances. If past ten minutes didn’t happen, they would effortlessly laugh them off. If the past half an hour didn’t happen, they would disregard the kids completely. Or just not be here in the first place.

Before either of them can speak, the mini-Jeremy jumps up and skips to the building entrance. “Excellent! Follow us!”

Jeremy wants to protest, but the little girl cheerfully giggles and follows her friend. The remaining two string along in quick succession, the one with goggles securing the plastic potato-gun on his back and sliding the Rubik’s 360 into a small pouch hanging off his shoulder like a hunted trophy, leaving the three adults alone in half-dark.

“Cock”, mutters James. “We have to follow them, do we?”

“What else can we do?” Richard shrugs.

Jeremy sighs and begins to walk. “Come on, chaps. We survived the fall. If this isn’t Andy’s colossal idea of a joke, if we are truly alone, I think God wouldn’t want us to waste that gift.”

Hearing Jeremy sound so serious is perhaps the only reason why Richard and James moved after him, leaving the hiding spot of a peculiar group of children empty and silent.


	2. The Train Station and The Lookout’s Lookouts

The group of kids, who Jeremy collectively decides to call Jawas because they are small and look like they are about to steal something at any minute, lead them away from the rubble towards the south.

To take his mind off their hopeless situation, that has not turned any sourer yet, Jeremy decides to break the flow of sour thoughts and focuses on the collided cars in the road. He quickly changes his mind and averts his gaze at atrociously poor choice some people have opted for. I mean… how many KIA’s can people be stupid enough to buy? And look at all those Nissan Jukes. Then there were mostly old models; 1.3 Suzuki Swift GTI’s, Volkswagen Polo Mk4’s and other things Jeremy has estranged himself out of whilst having his head dived into the pool of luxury. James, meanwhile, is happily pointing out all Dacia Sanderos, which Croatia seems to have a lot.

“Do you have _‘Top Gear’_ on TV?” Jeremy wants to know.

The boy with glasses and the girl don’t know what he’s talking about, but mini-Jeremy is smirking already.

“It was before. Old show”, he explains.

“And ‘The Grand Tour’?”

This time, Jeremy was facing three confused kids. Goggles kid – Sniper, as it fittingly seemed – was zigzagging farther across the road like a squirrel, skipping across the cars and looking into the streets coming out onto the main one they were walking on.

Jeremy sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That explains a lot.”

“At least we aren’t being chased by news reporters every step of the way”, says Richard, remembering Zadar with a bit of a cringe.

It’s beginning to go dark when they quickly exit the havoc-wrecked streets and out on another tree-lined grassy area with gravel walkways called King Tomislav square, bordered on both sides by stretches of tram rail, one sitting empty and silent in the middle of the road like a huge, blue snake. There is a pretty-looking yellow building in the middle and James uses a small nick of time to inspect it.

When they reach the end of the stretch of grass and come up a small slope behind the statue of another bloke on a horse, the girl motions for them to duck low, which they do, confused.

“Genius!” she hisses, and the boy with glasses skips over.

“Oi, _I’m_ genius!” Jeremy whisper-protests through the Jawas’ rapid fire of quiet words.

“I think that’s his name, Jezza”, James suggests.

“Why isn’t it mine?” Jeremy sulks.

“Because you are already Jezza”, James says, trying not to grin and failing.

“Why are we crouching and whispering?” asks Richard, waddling over to his two friends.

“Maybe they just want to play hide and seek”, suggests Jeremy.

“I don’t think they’re immature enough”, James shakes his head in disbelief.

“Should we go check?” says Jeremy, gesturing to where the children conversed lively and checked over the edge of the slope every once in a while. So the three of them walk over, minding to stay low.

“What is going on?” asks James, peering over the edge, trying to see something. There are two more lines of tram rail and a two-way road and across all of them is a two-story building stretching outwards in length with main entrance protruding outwards to them, words ‘ _Glavni kolodvor_ ’ written above three-door entry.

And for the first time, he sees people. They walk here and there in front of the entrance, hang around outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking from cans and there seems to be more movement coming from inside of the building. James licks his lips, suddenly wistful for a fresh, cold pint of lager.

“That is the main train station”, says Genius. “We have to know when your train goes and for that we have to see the list. But since power got killed, people who have no house live there. And people who do drugs and drinks, too.”

“Scary people”, says the girl and shivers a little.

“My dad says they eat kids”, says mini-Jeremy and glimmering in his blue eyes is some morbid excitement.

Adult Jeremy guessed that was an exaggeration. He really hoped it was. “Alright. So what now?”

“We wait”, says Genius (Jeremy still frowned at the thought someone had the nerve to steal his title). “Until they go to sleep.”

Jeremy looks to his companions and they shrug, silently giving in. So they retreat back behind the statue while children keep observing and quietly conversing, but saying they were composing a strategy sounded ludicrous.

However, they don’t think about it much for long. Worn-out first from the flight, then adrenaline-injecting crash, then the running and walking and generally trying to comprehend the odd children, they sprawl on the grass and, before they even know it, are drawn in by sleep.

* * *

James is woken up by someone shaking his shoulder. He opens his eyes and there is the wary, big-eyed silhouette of the goggles kid. He flinches away, but the boy already hops out of sight. Then James sees the sky and just about falls back unconscious. Despite the half-moon lighting up some of the dark-enveloped surroundings, there are impossibly many stars, just like when they were star-gazing in Syria and it takes him a second to realize it is a perfectly normal occurrence because street or any other lights don’t work and it is simply stunning.

“Come on”, there is a soft, tiny voice and James looks over to see the little girl waking Jeremy up, magic from the spectacle gone. “It’s time.”

Jeremy stirs, looking lost for a moment and James is watching how everything comes back to him in a wave and Jeremy instantly becomes more awake, turning around on his hands and knees to support himself up. Richard is already on his feet, peeking from behind the statue.

The front of the building is emptier now, save for two passed-out figures sprawled at the entrance, which surprises Richard because it isn’t exactly warm outside. The air is quiet and it’s impossibly disorientating to see almost nothing.

“What do we do?” asks Richard when his two friends join him and the children are gathered around as well; Sniper has managed to climb the base of the statue and was looking from around one horse hoof.

Genius almost looks smug. “You keep guard. We go.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” asks James, who has never had any kids. “You can’t even see anything.”

“We’ll be quick”, says mini-Jeremy, rubbing first one tip of a sneaker sole against the dirt, and then the other, like a tiny, curly bull ready to charge. He has a large fishing rod with a real hook at the end in his hands that no one noticed before. “Speed never killed anyone.”

James flinches, first at the deja-vu the sentence induces, and then at how impossibly proud and smug adult Jeremy looks.

“Dark might”, warns Richard, but they are already off.

“Is there any point in our contract that says we are responsible if casualties of minors occur not by our fault, but we were there as witnesses anyway?” asks James, watching as all four skilfully climb up the train stop shelter on the opposite side of the road.

Jeremy, James and Richard watch the kids exchange several more words and then mini-Jeremy grips the fishing pole, swings it backwards and then jerks forward with everything he had in him so much that he almost falls over the edge, but his friends are there to pull at his shirt and pants.

He did it, though. The hook toothed at the wall below the window above the entrance and got stuck in a nook somewhere. Jeremy still doesn’t know what they are doing, but he wonders if they named the wrong kid Sniper. Mini-Jeremy tugs a few times to ensure it’s secure and then jams the handle of the pole between the plastic cover and metal bar at the base of the shelter roof.

The purpose of the fishing pole becomes obvious when the girl grips the line and nimbly and surprisingly quickly begins crossing over to the other side, like an upside-down marten. Richard doesn’t even manage to gather his jaw off the floor and she is already on the other side. The goggles kid goes next, but not before finally putting those on, and crosses with same, impressive pace.

“Why didn’t _we_ do things like that when we were that small?” asks Jeremy.

“Maybe you did and the reason why you forgot is because you bloody fell off and hit your head”, James suggests disapprovingly.

“Actually, that isn’t a bad theory, James, I’m having a great time imagining it just now”, grins Richard.

“Oh, grow a pair Hammond”, Jeremy tells him off.

The Jawas, all accounted for, are all across and the three push open the window and slide in, leaving the goggles-kid to crouch at the edge, gathering a potato gun from the back and looking about.

“That’s brilliant”, whispers Jeremy. “Can we feature this in the show somehow?”

“No cameras, Jeremy”, James reminds him.

The kids are gone for some time, but Sniper doesn’t appear concerned. Even so, the three men keep on looking, if anything, as lookouts for the lookout.

Then all of a sudden, the end of the rod wobbles and the end falls out of the wall. Luckily, the boy spots it from the corner of his eye and, quick reflexes in tow, reaches out and snatches it before it fell down. Jeremy sucks in a breath.

But nothing else happened. Carefully, goggles-boy lowers his gun on the protrusion below the window and turns his back to attempt to dig the hook in again.

“Should we go help him?” says Jeremy and the others can feel his suspense.

“And how do you suppose you’re going to climb up there?” says James briskly, logic breaking helping hand. “Over the rod line?”

“I have to pee”, Richard squeaks.

Apparently, so did somebody else.

The door to the main entrance slam open and out walks a tall, skinny man, lit cigarette bit among his teeth, a lone orange dot of light in the dark. He looks dishevelled and clattered and even stumbles a little, but he doesn’t miss scratching sounds coming from above. Turns around and spots the boy and his discarded plastic gun. And a line attached to the building.

But the deaf boy remains completely oblivious.

“He doesn’t hear him!” Jeremy squeaks quietly in panic, pulling at his thin curls. “He can’t hear him!”

The man discards a cigarette, eyes not leaving the small child, and lifts his right hand. Something glimmers in his hand, but it’s too far to see; a knife? A broken bottle? A piece of glass?

James doesn’t stop to think.

He grabs the nearest, medium-sized oval rock from the ground and bolts across the pavement, ignoring whisper-shouts of his mates. He runs across the road and half-hides between one rubbish bin. Squints as hard as he can in weak moonlight, extends his arm, aims…

The rock is flying in a smooth arch.

Hitting the man straight at the back of his head.

The rock ricochets and flies upwards. Hits one of the windows.

James is triumphant for one second. In the other one, the man flips his head around and spots him and James is suddenly frightened. The sharp object in the man’s hand is now being aimed at him.

But the boy has spotted the rapid trajectory of the rock hitting the window, jumped, turned and saw everything. Not wasting a breath, he reaches for the plastic gun, and, seemingly with no aim, shoots.

The back of the man’s head suffers another blow, but this time it is something bigger, tougher and a lot more painful than a golf ball. Whatever it is, it’s enough for the man’s eyes to roll to the back of his head and his face to meet the concrete. An object clonks from his hand on to the ground. It’s a broken bottle. He doesn’t move anymore.

 _That’s how it feels!_ James celebrates inwardly and looks up.

The boy is looking back down at him, goggles pushed upwards. James can’t tell from the dark, but he thinks that’s a grateful smile the boy is giving him. A real smile sprout on an otherwise serous, wary face.

Smile or not, James offers one back and half-runs back to his friends, who are now standing upright, quietly cheering. 

Several minutes later, kids emerge from the askew window. They return to their side of the road as quickly as they came and Jeremy wonders why they haven’t just used the ground. An extreme version of floor-is-lava game, perhaps. He had forgotten what it was like to be a kid.

The kids rejoined them looking pleased, so the job must’ve been done well. Then something occurs to Jeremy.

They are missing a Jawa.

Suddenly, there is a loud noise coming from inside the train station, like something large had fallen, followed by shouting, but then the entrance door bursts open and out skips mini-Jeremy, running and holding a pile of something in his arms. When he approaches, they see two things: his mischievous grin, and numerous snacks piled in his arms.

He had robbed a vending machine.

James and Richard begin laughing, but having to do it quietly makes them lose their footing and they are on the grass, Richard gripping his groin and kicking his legs to avoid peeing himself.

“Honestly, Clarkson”, James wheezes, wiping at a tear. “Have you re-spawned at some point in your life?”

“Grow up”, Jeremy throws back, but his lips are curled upwards.

“Genius!” calls the mini-Jeremy.

“Genius”, confirms adult Jeremy and claps.

But the curly boy reaches the boy with glasses and gets, presumably – the three men can’t understand what the other boy is saying, though there is an accented word ‘ _budaletino’_ – reprimanded, but judging by his smirk, mini-Jeremy isn’t bothered and instead starts shoving the goodies into his friend’s backpack.

Then the shouting comes back and the door to the train station bursts open once again and several men pour from the doorway.

“Nevermind that, good job, run!” Jeremy gently tugs mini-Jeremy when he attempts to stuff the remainder of treats into the bag and the odd mixture of adults and kids starts running down the road, snickering and giggling.

The shouts were behind them for quite some time, but eventually subsided as their pursuers gave up the chase. At this point, breathless, but still cheered up, they seek refuge in one of the buildings. At first it’s dark and they keep bumping against the shelves, but then a shimmering light comes up, and it’s an insistent, large flame, coming from a lab burner wielded by goggles-wearing Sniper. He removes them and smiles and suddenly doesn’t look half as threatening anymore.

They ended up in a tech/mechanic shop of sorts and, finding more gas-starting burners, they ignite them and set them around the shop. In the middle, there is an area with several couches and lounging chairs. Richard disappears somewhere, probably in search for the toilet. Goggles kid draws back in his own corner, gets something out of the pouch and begins fiddling with it. The rest of them open snacks and the kids are mesmerized when Jeremy and James (and eventually Richard when he joins them) share the stories of their adventures.

It doesn’t last long as they are all tired and the little girl falls asleep first in the middle of the floor. Jeremy carefully lifts her up and shifts her on one of the sofas, then takes one of his own and falls asleep himself. It doesn’t take Richard and the two other boys to follow suit.

James extinguishes most of the burners and reclines in a two-seater, keen to close his eyes, but then feels a small tug on his arm sleeve. He opens them and there is Goggles, eyes big, but far less wary than before. He’s holding a square contraption in his hands and a small screwdriver.

“Hello”, says James and it’s simultaneously a question.

The little boy offers him the device.

“What’s that you’ve got here, hmm?” James takes the contraption, letting the boy take a seat next to him. He carefully turns it around and realizes, to his surprise, that it’s a _Walkman_. Real Sony’s _Walkman_ with an inserted cassette and everything. It felt like holding past in his hands. Seeing something like this in hands of a child this young is a major leap in timespan and James wonders how in the world the boy came by it.

The screwdriver is shoved under his nose and James stupidly looks at the child. He points and James sees that the back of the device is opened up, all the tiny parts that move it visible.

Then he realizes.

The kid is asking him for help. He wants him to fix the player.

And for the first time, James sees a sign of a real, small child that they were all supposed to be.

He is offered something else. Goggles. Mildly surprised, he takes them and is still prompted by the boy’s insistent eyes to put them on, and when he does, he realizes the mastery of them. They are like a mixture of magnifiers and flashlights. He looks around and everything looks sharp, clear and white and shapes are all there.

Without further ado, James dives into work, quickly realizing what the child was on to. He is trying to replace all the parts to try and start it up again.

“Do you know this was an i-pod back in the 80’s?” James speaks gently, his inner ‘Reassembler’ kicking in and fingers twitching for seeing this device in hundreds of bits so he can slowly put them all back together. But now he’s just patiently screwing a tactile switch back to its place on the motherboard.

“I remember walking to and from music academy”, he said. “I’d been given Chopin’s etudes that my piano teacher ordered me to listen, but I’d switch tape with Led Zeppelin’s album every time just to annoy her. It never got old.”

He keeps on talking, a little about the device, a little about himself, a little about old times and all of it is enough for the little boy’s eyelids to start falling and pretty soon, he ends up curled up against James’ side, pressing close for warmth and James is so captivated by what he is doing that he only notices when it becomes difficult to blink back fatigue.

He fights off a voluminous yawn and removes the goggles, surprised when he finds out that all the burners were out. Placing the _Walkman_ and the screwdriver aside, careful not to wake the sleeping boy, he throws his head back against the headrest and is gone within seconds.

Because his phone is dead, James doesn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but morning rolls in all too quickly and kids being kids are up early regardless when they have fallen asleep.

They continue south, past the University Library and Avenue Mall and when they see a tollgate about a kilometre ahead half an hour later, the kids stop. This is as far as they go.

The bespectacled boy offers Jeremy a map and a compass. Jeremy notices the needle is spinning around like crazy, abruptly changing directions and being spasmodic all over behind glass like it had at some point adopted free will and was using all weak means it had in disposition to attempt to escape.

“What am I supposed to do with _this_?” Jeremy wants to know, frowning at the batty object in his hand.

The boy offers another one of his half shrugs. “Thought it might use if the wave really starts to be weaker the more south you go. Then the needle should be spinning slower and slower. Or if the wave is out of reach, not at all.”

“Huh”, is the only thing Jeremy says. He has to admit he hadn’t thought of that.

“Your train goes only once in two days at eleven in the morning”, the kid says. “Right now it’s today. So count every second day from today. If you miss it, you’ll have to wait for another two days.”

“And you’re sure of it?” insists Jeremy. “There’s really no other way?”

The boy looks embarrassed. “Honestly? I don’t know how long this will last because I miss playing _Total War_. And I don’t know how far it goes. Maybe things work even before train and you find your friends faster.”

“Is it the shortest way?” Richard insists.

“It’s safest”, says the girl. “You can cut through woods, but we don’t know if there are tracks.”

“Plus wolves, bears and maybe lynxes later on”, says the mini-Jeremy, grinning. 

“Highway it is”, says Richard quickly, nodding vigorously.

“Well”, begins Jeremy, realizing the detriment of stalling, despite how much fun he’s had by now, all things considered. “Thank you very much for your help.”

“Absolutely, thank you”, nods Richard, shifting from foot to foot like his body is eager to get a move on.

The bespectacled Jawa nods. “Be careful at night and be careful who you talk to. And just follow the signs. You can’t get lost. And…” he pauses, lifting a hand to his lips pensively searching the concrete with darting eyes before sheepishly looking up. “I don’t know what else to say. I never tried to tell someone where to go.”

“You did more than you think”, says Richard, smiling gently. “Just be careful yourselves, alright?”

The children shake the three men’s hands politely and then the boy with goggles walks up to James and James is first confused and then utterly bewildered when a familiar rectangular grey shape is held out towards him including thin plastic headphones.

“For me?”

A nod.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t take this. It’s yours”, James pleads, extending the device back, but the boy gestures something with his fingers rapidly.

“He says it’s okay”, translates the girl for an even more puzzled James. “That he can fix the device, but to him, nothing can fix what it’s made for.”

Something clenches at James’ heart, and it isn’t only him; Jeremy and Richard exchange a brief melancholic glance.

The boy pulls out the Rubik’s 360 ball, then gives James an entire pouch which turned out to contain a small box which James opens, detecting more small bits collected over time and meant to replace the fried ones in the _Walkman_. Including three different small screwdrivers attached to the top of the lid like pencils in a pencil case. Finally, the boy removes his trustful goggles and presses them into James’ hands. Without asking, he knows why. So if need be, he can work in the dark.

“Thank you very much”, James says gently, nodding. “You are very kind.”

The goggles kid nods and then turns around to skip away after his friends without a second spare glance.

“Nice meeting you, Top Gear guys!” greets mini-Jeremy with a small wave.

Jeremy, Richard and James move too, but before the children can disappear back among the deathly silent streets, James turns and yells back, “I’ll fix it. I promise!”

He instantly flinches guiltily and sadly when he remembers the kid isn’t reacting because he can’t hear him.


	3. The Unhealthy Meals and Midnight Scares

“You know what’s the difference between you and Croatia, Hammond?” says Jeremy cheerfully as his shoes hit the concrete.

An exasperated sigh from Richard’s side. “No, Jez.”

“Well, when I first saw Croatia on the map, I thought it was very small. Now it seems pretty big. But when I first met you, I thought you were small, and I _still_ think you’re small. And you still _are_ very small.”

“Why don’t you go back to insulting cars?” says Richard. “I liked you better that way.”

They have been walking for a while for their standards. The monotony of the straight highway stretching forward was only broken by the chaotic groups of abandoned cars, vans, buses and semi-trucks with huge trailers of cargo, some toppled over on their sides, some jackknifed and others simply piled with any smaller and lighter vehicles onto their front like whichever target of choice meeting a bull’s fury.

And while Jeremy had the need to comment the lack of taste and common sense some people could possibly have about cars, James only hoped they were all alright.

Right after the tollgate is a gas station. James makes a good point that they should stop to gather water and other supplies. They are careful when entering the place as to avoid the repetition of train station fiasco, but the place is surprisingly empty and quiet. While James and Richard go for a wee, Jeremy stuffs a croissant into his mouth (all bagels and bakery goodies behind a glass container at the other end of the store have dried up) and, pocketing several bags of sour gummies and candy in his jacket, wanders outside into a quiet day.

He looks around, spots cars seemingly casually resting by the filling tanks.

Jeremy bites off a rather large chunk of soft dough and feels a mixture of chocolate and vanilla soak his taste buds and, with a determined frown – which really looked more comical than anything else – marches towards an old, battered dull-silver Chevy Aveo. He eats the rest of the light breakfast while eyeing it suspiciously and cracks open a can of promising-looking Croatian beer, takes a huge gulp, and opens the bonnet.

During the time of Jeremy’s conspicuous digging, Richard and James fiund coffee – iced one that was supposed to be cold, but turned a bit tepid under lack of electricity and proper coffee machines predictably didn’t work – but coffee is coffee, and beggars can’t be choosers in this pre-Teslan situation (the human, not the car).

They thankfully find some backpacks and pile them up with water, beer cans and James nicks some tiny bottles of brandy, both home-made and international, on the counter.

Richard starts to collect bags of chips and candy and other sweet and salty goods. Their stomachs are going to be pissed, but it’s all they had. Chewing on a Kit-Kat bar, Richard turns at James’ holler of triumph to see the older man jingling a cluster of keys. James attempts to open an overhead plastic compartment and it takes several tries with several keys until eventually the plastic gate slides upwards.

James takes two boxes of white _Marlboro_ ’s. Pauses. Takes four more, three reds and four _Chesterfields_.

“You chimney”, grins Richard.

“Half are for Jezza”, promises James. “And besides”, he says with a grin of his own while shouldering the backpack and testing its weight. “We don’t know how long we’d be walking. Could be weeks for all we know.”

“I don’t remember Croatia being that big.”

“Probably because you’ve only been by car or boat and it would only take you about seven hours to go from northest to the southest city.”

He picks two lighters from the lighter stands next to the register and walks back around to the main part of the store. “Anything else we need?”

Richard looks around. Drinks, food, extra jackets…

“Wouldn’t say”, he shrugs. “Unless Jeremy would like one of those stuffed animals.”

They both giggle, and with James taking the third backpack intended for Jeremy, they leave the dim, cold mini-store behind to look for their missing member.

They find him waist-deep into the bonnet of an old Chevy.

“What are you doing?” yells Richard as they approach.

“Practicing my next breakdance move, what do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Haven’t you heard the children?” objects James, lowering the heavy backpack to the ground. “Everything that runs on engine or electricity is dead. Cars included.”

“Yeah, I refuse to believe that”, counters Jeremy, rounding the car and taking the driver’s seat. “Honestly, James, when was the last time you genuinely saw a car that couldn’t be fixed or started?” He turns the key – which was still there for some reason – and the car begins coughing, but doesn’t roar to life. Jeremy pauses for a moment before trying again with the same result.

Richard sits on the curb, aware this is going to go on for a while.

“It’s not working, Jez”, says James helpfully after fifth attempt.

With a grunt, or a curse, or something like that, Jeremy’s head ducks low, possibly to fiddle with the wires, but when he makes an attempt again, the result is still the same.

“No good”, says Richard, resting his cheek on his palm.

“It doesn’t work”, whines Jeremy, sagging back into the seat with a woebegone expression.

The door was open so James reaches in to consolingly pat his older colleague on the shoulder. “Come on. We have no choice but to walk. To be honest, it had to have happened sometime.”

“What is that?” gestures Jeremy to the discarded rucksack.

“It’s your load”, explains Richard.

“What?” splutters Jeremy. “You expect me to carry something? On my back?!”

James exchanges a glance with Richard, turns back to Jeremy. “You can stay here if you like. Live in a gas station, trying to start a dead car with nothing to provide the necessary jolt for the battery. Maybe then you’ll finally start to understand the nature and importance of electricity. Briefly, it all goes back to Michael Faraday, who was the first to—”

“Give me that”, Jeremy grabs the backpack and slings it on, ignoring Richard’s bemused grin. “James, I’ll carry anything you want if you promise to shut up.”

“How rude to say that to a person who got you fags”, James says bluntly and lifts a pack. Instantly, Jeremy’s expression turns radiant and for everything that is real, his expression is the copy of the one when James provided him with the reading glasses.

Jeremy takes the offered and for a second looks like he is about to hug May, but remembers his place and just walks past with a clumsy single pat on James’ shoulder.

James meets Richard’s eyes and one of his eyelids subtly twitches in a manner that could’ve been interpreted as a tic or a wink, but Hammond opts for the latter.

So they walk. They walk a monotone line along the concrete highway, seeing vehicles sometimes in larger groups and sometimes there wouldn’t be one until well in the distance.

As hours pass, Jeremy’s temper starts to show. His playful remarks become at first incoherent mumbling and then outright shouting – so much that he scares off falcons perched on the fence poles on the sides of the highway.

“Bored! Tired! Back-ache! Hate this country! Want to drive!”

James happily lights his third cigarette. “Cheer up. There’s a bright side.”

Jeremy pauses his step and arm-spreading, looking back in surprise. “There is?”

“Yes. At least when you come back to Lisa, you’ll be able to proudly tell her how you’ve lost a few pounds.” 

Richard dissolves into a hyena’s laughing fit, but Jeremy is less amused. With one angry grumble which might’ve been an insult, he shoves his hands into his pockets and speeds up forward against his sore legs to create as much distance between him and his two colleagues before realizing the only thing it does is fuel May’s claim.

Realizing he’s realized it when he slowed down, James joins Richard in a laughing duet with Jeremy saying words like ‘’traitors’’ and ‘’friends’’ in a very cynical way, but the smile on his face doesn’t remain held-back for long.

As sun begins to set, they sit down on a bonnet of a Nissan Navara to eat dinner their mothers would frown upon. When James’ stomach _did_ begin to sting at the aggressive sourness and spiciness taken in, he gulped down another can of beer and three tiny bottles of Jägermeister while Jeremy looked around.

“So… what now?”

“What do you mean what now?” asks Richard munching on crispy choco balls.

“Look over there, genius. That’s sun just set. And there are no hotels or tents or anything. Where are we going to sleep?”

James stops in the middle of a gulp, eyeing their colleagues, peeved. “I cannot believe my ears. Look around, ‘genius’. What do you see?”

“Road, fields, forest, sunset?”

“And cars, you pillock”, chides James bemusedly. “It wouldn’t be the first or last time we slept in cars.”

“Not our own”, reminds Jeremy.

“You found the right time to be petty. Here.”

James jumps off Nissan with impressive agility and struts over to one of the jackknifed cargo trucks, reaching up and opening the back door, revealing a pretty spacious inside, save for occasional piles of cardboard boxes. He hops in, having to struggle a little due to back of the truck being pretty high up.

“Is it more beer?” shouts Jeremy when James opens nearest box.

“Nope. Paper towels.”

“Boring”, Jeremy decides, but follows, offering James his rucksack so he could climb in himself. The sun was setting fast.

“You coming?” James asks Hammond who stares into the truck with a mix of uncertainty and disgust.

“That is just barbaric. You two feel free to take this entire container for yourselves. I’m finding a real car.”

“Sleeping in someone else’s car is invading someone else’s privacy”, says James. “Never mind that someone’s left it, they’re going to come back for it eventually and you will have left your fumes embedded in its inside forever.”

As Jeremy guffaws at that, Richard follows it with a profound frown.

“I’m civilized enough to go for a car, James. I’m not piling up with you two oafs. Call it whatever you like. Good night.”

He stomps over to a silver Mercedes-Benz people-carrier tipped diagonally between left and right lane of the highway dozen meters away from the truck. He opens the sliding door and shuffles inside, quickly discovering a child seat in the second row.

With a quiet hope the baby survived the ordeal, Richard removes his backpack, unclasps the seat and throws it in the back between two more seats. Then he unfolds a fluffy pink fleece blanket hanging over the headrest and spreads it, noting a name in golden initials in one corner.

“Sorry, Nina”, he apologizes into thin air, laying down across all three seats and settling in. “Just going to borrow this for the night.”

He falls asleep after a while dreaming about his nice huge bed back at home.

In the front of the truck, James finds two tweed blankets and happily carries his catch to Jeremy who’s been arranging the space for himself.

“You sure you don’t want at the front?” asks James. “I don’t want to listen to you complaining about backache the whole day tomorrow.”

“Believe me, it’s better if I lay”, grumbles Jeremy, accepting one of the blankets with a brief thanks. “If I wanted to annoy you, I’d do it without causing myself problems first.”

“And cardboards are better than actual seats?”

“Cardboard is the closest thing to a mattress a man can improvise with besides car seat. Come on, May we’ve been worse.” Jeremy straightens up, eyeing the younger man curiously. “Never thought you for a worrying kind.”

James gives a cheeky half-smile. “Who said I was worried?”

Jeremy chuckles as he settles down, satisfied by the improvised cushion from paper towels and flattened cardboard. “At least we’re somewhere inside. Not ideal, but it’s something.”

“Still better than African motels”, quips James from the front seat, pulling out the goggles and the _Walkman_ that was in need of mending.

Jeremy laughs quietly. “So it is. ‘Night, James.”

“’Night, Jez.”

* * *

It seems to James that no sooner had he closed his eyes they shot back open as a disturbing fabric of sound echoed out in his ears, muffled by the enclosed space.

Screams. Sheer, piercing, cut-off horror screams.

“Jeremy!” He hisses.

Surprisingly, a grumble comes in response immediately.

“What was that?” asks James, a bit alarmed.

“Mmh. Deer”, mutters Jeremy half-awake, sounding unconcerned. “They make impressive sounds. When I was in Scotland on holiday with family decades ago, we couldn’t sleep because they were going on all night. Children were beside themselves. In the morning the receptionist enlightened us what it was. Em begged us to go home.”

James chuckles, despite himself. “Do you think Hammond knows about it?”

“Don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”

In the Benz, Richard’s eyes pop open no sooner than the first scream finished. He had trouble falling asleep in the narrow space and had a window open to reduce claustrophobia only a little, warm under his new fuzzy cover. He had started to regret his decision earlier, but going over to the back of that truck would be the epitome of embarrassment, so Richard decided to sacrifice his comfort and good night’s sleep in favour of his pride.

Hearing this makes him reconsider. When the sound repeats, closer this time, Richard has to gather all his courage to sit up and look outside.

It’s predictably pitch black with only stars to blink from above. There are some regularly spaced white stars near the ground, too, in line with the road. Some bigger and closer. It takes Richard a second to realize they are aligned a bit too symmetrically.

And then another to realize they were eyes.

One pair is so close they are practically at the open window.

Richard lets out a scream of his own and fumbles in the tangled blanket, scrambles across the seats and bursts out of the boot, running towards the back of the infernal truck without looking behind.

He tears inside so fast he knocks out one tower of boxes and makes a complete ruckus. Jeremy bolts upright. If he hadn’t known it was coming, he would’ve had a proper stroke.

“What are you doing, Hamster?”

“There’s a—“, wheezes Richard full of sudden adrenaline, stumbling in the mess he’s made, by some miracle managing to hold his ground. He’s pointing towards where he thinks the back door is in near pitch black darkness. “There are— there’s some- - some things out there… eyes—“

From the front seat, James presses the lenses of the goggles on his eyes, seeing the younger man shudder in darkness with tousled hair and horrified look in his eyes. And…

“What are you wearing, man?” James grins, conjuring up all sorts of derision he was going to jab at the smaller presenter for the rest of his life. “Is that a kid’s blanket… ‘Nina’? When did you change identities?”

Jeremy begins laughing in the earnest and Richard shares looks of confusion between the two before his eyes adjusted to the faint light from outside and his face fell. “Oh. Oh you were in on this. Very funny.”

“How could we be in on it, the deer came to say hi to you on their own”, Jeremy giggles, amusement still in his voice.

“You actually scared them off with your ruckus”, says James looking through the windshield from the front of the tuck. “They are all gone.”

“Some mates you are”, mutters Richard, shifting from foot to foot, glad they couldn’t see the blush he felt rising on his cheeks.

“Come on”, gestures Jeremy vaguely, already halfway to falling back asleep. “Lay down. Or join May in the front. You don’t have back problems… Nina.”

James giggles from the front and Richard sheds silent comments about stupid deer and unsupportive friends, but he goes to the front and sits in the passenger seat next to James, suddenly feeling extra cold and shivering as he wrapped himself better.

James notices it. “There’s another extra blanket in compartment above my head.”

Richard shakes his head. “No, thank you.” He circles his neck and wriggles his back, lifting his cocooned legs onto the console, snuggling and trying to get comfortable. “Just got a bit stiff in that Benz, is all. Contrary to popular belief, backseat can be cramped even for me.”

“Alright, then”, says James gently, and that seemed to be that.

“Good night, James.”

“Night, Nina.”

“Shut it.”

* * *

The next day, after waking up rather late, they eat the remainder of their snack-made breakfast and sugar finally gets to Richard. Despite last night, he is in a surprisingly good mood today. He minds to fold the pink fluffy blanket and place it back in the Benz the way he found it before they continue their journey.

He is impossibly lively. So much so that he is coreographing his way down the highway about fifteen meters in front of other two, singing a suspiciously out-of-tune version of “ _Sofa, Hyundai, Administration_ ” song at the top of his lungs.

“How long do you reckon sugar will last in an organism this small?” asks Jeremy, walking with James at a reasonable pace, trying not to wince at his stomach’s response to all the sweets, beer cans and chocolate bars. If he doesn’t have a proper meal soon, he will die.

James observes their energy-pumped friend, climbing over a car and doing air guitar performance. “Tell you what, as weak is it is with alcohol resistance, as strong it is with sugar.”

“That’s a stupid paradox.”

“Hey, there’s a turning sign over there, I’m gonna go and take a look!” Richard takes off into a sprint, shoes punctuating quick rhythm into the concrete.

“Careful, we know about your tendency to fall over for no reason!” yells Jeremy, cupping one side of his mouth with a hand.

“Thought that was your specialty”, James smirks.

Jeremy grins at his mate. “Only on ice.”

“Jezza…” begins James hesitantly, “May I be honest?”

“Always.”

“I don’t want to feel responsible if anything happens to others while they’re looking for us.”

Jeremy looks over with a stunned expression, almost stopping in his step. “James… mate they will be fine.”

“I appreciate the effort, Clarkson, and while it might’ve worked for your children, don’t bother with me.”

“May”, Jeremy sighs, watching Richard reach the huge sign on the side of the road and beginning to read the list. “My children might not care for an explanation that I’m about to give. Andy and the others are much better equipped than us, mate. What did we have? Some cameras, walkies and phones. They have… er… other things. Many more things. I’m sure they would’ve informed themselves about the situation more thoroughly than we have. After all, it’s our job to do stupid things, and theirs to make sure we do it in a controlled way.”

Then Jeremy’s voice turns softer. “They will be fine, James. I’m telling you, when we get to Split, they will already be there waiting for us and asking what on Earth took us so long. When was the last time I was wrong?”

“Shall I tell you chronologically or alphabetically?” James grins.

A sharp whistle makes them both look forward. In the distance, about half a kilometre, Richard is waving his arms, still comically small, pointing profusely at the yellow sign he’s standing next to.

“Looks like Hamster found us something”, Jeremy notices. He lightly tugs James’ forearm with one finger, asking a question with his eyes. When James nods, gratitude in it as well, they light up fags and continue on.

It takes them a few minutes to reach Richard, by which point they finished off the cigs.

“Thought there was only one Captain Slow”, jokes Richard.

“We’re old men, Hammond, so you’ll have to forgive us”, chuckles Jeremy.

“Guess speed and power doesn’t really work when you’re on your feet”, points out James cheekily.

“Never mind that, look”, Richard points at a sign. “I found our first stop.”

Indeed, there was a big yellow arrow on a huge sign on the side of the highway. Above it, in big black letters, it said ‘ _Karlovac’_.

* * *

Karlovac is nothing like Zagreb, as the trio quickly discovers. It’s smaller, obviously, but even in this situation, Croatia’s capital gave away positive vibes. Here, the town feels abandoned from the start. Complete silence and seemingly empty low houses.

“Feels even more dead than Zagreb”, comments Jeremy, looking in concern between the still spinning compass needle and his surroundings as they walk on a long, wide, straight street. “I genuinely feel like a zombie apocalypse is occurring.”

“Look!” points Richard to one of the roofs where a huge nest occupied by two thin-legged, long-beaked birds was perched on top of the chimney. “Storks!”

“There, too”, exclaims James, pointing to another one.

“At least that’s something”, nods Jeremy.

They are so occupied by trying to find something interesting in this silent town that they completely miss two men standing in the middle of the road a bit farther ahead.

“Look, humans!” points Jeremy.

One of the men lifts a double rifle they hadn’t even noticed he had, pointing it directly at them and yelling something.

“Cock, not again”, says James, freezing in his step and lifting his hands automatically.

“Don’t shoot!” reasons Jeremy, panicked. “Please, we come in peace!”

The man aiming at them tells something to the other man and Richard thinks he’s heard words similar to “tourists.”

“What are you doing here?” the armed man shouts in accented English.

“We’re just passing through”, explains Richard. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

He then receives a double look from both his friends mutely expressing the irony of his statement, which he chooses to ignore.

“That remains to be seen”, says the man. He doesn’t lower the rifle. “A lot of people are passing through and say the same, little man. Some don’t stick to their word.”

“Look, I’m surprising myself by saying this, but he’s telling the truth”, James tries. “We have no idea where we are going or frankly, what we are doing. We could use some advice on that. And we’re a bit tired from walking if we are honest.”

The man keeps them in suspense for a while and his companion leans over and tells him something. Finally, the rifle is down and the three release a sigh of relief.

“You tell me your story and then I tell you what you want to know.”

“But—” begins Jeremy, but James elbows him in the ribs and Richard hurries to say. “That’s a fair trade.”

Jeremy looks at him and Richard glares back warningly. Jeremy decides to be methodical, as methodical as he knows how to be.

“Do you have electricity?” asks Jeremy hopefully. “Functioning cars?”

The man scoffs. “Friend, I haven’t showered in so long that my wife refuses to sleep in the same bed as me. I haven’t seen a single football game in a week and the only way to cook is in inside or outside fireplace.”

“I hope it doesn’t last long”, Richard says helpfully.

“Not longer than I’d like”, the man nods, shouldering his rifle. “Come. You must be starving. We just slaughtered a lamb. You are more than welcome to join us for lunch.

* * *

If they put threatening with an armed weapon aside, Croatian people have proven to be excellent hosts.

The rifle-man, rugged, grey-haired, but strong, looking to be about James’ age, was actually a very kind gentleman. His companion turned out to be his son, and his wife was happy to see the unannounced guests, although she didn’t speak a word of English.

They sat at a table in their house, all six of them, the three Brits indulging in first warm meal they’ve had in days with delighted gusto.

“Ma’am this is an exquisite lamb and barley goulash, I cannot remember if I ever made a better one”, compliments Jeremy.

James nearly chokes on his spoon. “Tell me… when was the last time you made a goulash?”

“I told you, James, I can’t remember.”

“You crashed in a plane?” asks the son, looking to be about mid-twenties.

“I navigated us to the ground”, corrects James, ignoring Jeremy’s eye-roll. “But yes, it was scary.”

“So where is everybody?” Asks Richard, taking a forkful of mixed salad.

“Went south”, says the man. “The wave didn’t reach everywhere.”

“Why not go with them, then?”

“Because when they fix it, there is going to be a wave of tens of thousands of people moving back north. And when that happens, I will be at home with my lovely wife and son, watching TV and drinking cold beer”, he grins.

“You think they’ll fix it?” Richard asks.

“It’s 21st century, of course they are going to fix it”, the son chuckles.

“Your turn. Where are you headed?” asks the man, taking a sip of wine. Electricity or not, basements are always excellent for storing wines, of which taste James immensely enjoyed on his tongue.

“Ogulin”, says Jeremy, probably butchering the correct spelling, leaning back in the chair when James passes the bread basket from the wife to Richard with a warm bagel protruding from his mouth. “We mean to catch a train to Knin. It’s apparently close to Split. We hear planes work just fine down there.”

“Hmm”, ponders the man, rubbing his chin. “Your plan is highway?”

“For now, yes.”

He shakes his head. “No good. It’ll take you more than two days for a walk you can do in less than one. Take your time to finish eating. Rest for a bit. Then I’ll show you where to go.”

They do. They finish, thank the man’s wife and she packs them the leftovers for the trip. Then they take a quick nap in the living room, reclined in sofas and armchairs as the wife and son clean up the table and do the dishes. Half an hour later, Richard wakes up first and shakes the other two awake, saying it wouldn’t do well for them to waste the day.

The man walks them out of town, stopping when he reaches the edge of the farthest field.

“Go this road until it splits into two”, he instructs. “That other road will be macadam. Take it and keep walking until you reach the edge of the forest. Ol’ Haron will show you the way. Provided you have the means to pay him.”

“We don’t have your money”, Jeremy says, concerned.

The man mysteriously smirks over his shoulder, already walking back. “Oh, I’m not talking about money.”


	4. The First Architects and Annoying Loyalties

They follow the man’s instructions, walk on until the concrete splits, then take the right turn down the wide macadam road and make a few more hundred meters along it until they reach the beginning of the treeline.

There, in the middle of the road, lay a curled-up bundle of hair.

When it hears them approach, it raises its head and slowly gets up on its feet, emitting a few joint cracks when it stretches, and they realize what it is.

It was a medium-sized, long-legged, scruffy mongrel, in no way striking. Its sharp, dirty fur was creamy yellow, ears pointy with swipes of rough tufted hair on its tips and a silver shaggy snout. But its eyes were amber in colour, definitely striking in contrast to the rest of him, surrounded by gentle lines of black hair.

The dog barks, scruffy tail pointing straight up.

James, who personally never owned a dog and has always preferred company of cats, but didn't openly hold hated towards dogs either, backs away a step.

Richard is bolder. "Hello", he says, taking a cautious step forward and crouches a bit. "It's alright, there's a good boy. Don’t worry, we're harmless."

The dog stops barking and lowers his head a little. Wary and curious given the tip of his tail, now settled arched among his back legs, is wagging a little.

"You poor thing", Richard almost coos, uncharacteristically sympathetic, surprising both of his friends and kneels down, reaching into his backpack, rummaging around a little. “Where is it now…”

Jeremy and James watch in amazement as Richard fishes out a rustling plastic bag of packed food and offers the dog a piece of lamb. “So thin… You must be starving.”

He throws the piece at dog’s feet. The animal sniffs it carefully before devouring it almost in a single gulp.

"Look, Rich. He has an eyeliner, just like you”, Jeremy points, chuckling.

“Get off”, growls Richard, but he never managed to be serious enough with Jeremy’s prodding.

The dog licks its lips a few times, then barks again; it sounds different this time. More approachable and friendly, if judging something like that is even possible.

The animal starts walking down the gravel path a few steps, then turns around to look at them all standing there, giving a single bark.

“I think he wants us to follow him”, says Jeremy.

“You speak dog?” asks James bemusedly.

“No, but remember what that man told us? ‘Haron will show you the way’. Do you remember that myth about a bloke in a boat who carries souls of just deceased into underworld but you have to pay him first?”

“That’s a little morbid”, notices James. “Do you think that’s Haron?”

“Haron does sound like Charon”, nods Richard. “And I did just feed him.”

“Never mind, we can just call him Grand Tour Dog”, Jeremy announces importantly.

Richard and James make a prolonged eye-contact when he’s walked off. 

* * *

The path through the woods is followed by the sounds of four sets of footsteps, one of them being quadrupetal, the birdsong, the humming of a distant creek and the occasional rhythmic noise of a woodpecker.

“Do we ever know where we are going?” asks James, a little concerned.

“GT knows”, says Jeremy.

“I think you give the dog too much credit”, James protests. “Dogs aren’t clever. Dogs can’t know where they’re going.”

“Someone hadn’t watched ‘A Dog’s Way Home’”, grins Richard.

“Oh, I cried like a baby on that one”, Jeremy says, stepping over a fallen tree.

“I didn’t”, says Richard proudly, grin turning wider as he bounced on the trunk.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m telling you. Mindy did, though. Cried herself to sleep.”

“Starting to think all your empathy went to her and into your kids”, observes James, stepping over the barrier with both hands serving as support.

They walk down the path that slowly turns to dirt and protruding rocks and Jeremy concludes being a little more careful with his steps wouldn’t hurt.

The dog isn’t quick. He walks at a steady pace, doesn’t trot, careful where he’s putting his paws despite long legs. The amount of grey hair on his face and feet is implying to Richard the dog is to be put in roughly the same category of age as the three of them, conversion from dog to human years taken into consideration. The youngest of the three briefly wonders if Jeremy is right. If this animal really knows what it’s doing.

Well, he’s been taking them down marked paths so far, alright. And when they’d stop to rest, the dog would sit or lay patiently, immediately sprouting to his feet when the three men showed signs to move on.

Richard gets bored at some point, so he falls back behind James and Jeremy, picking up acorns from the ground and flinging them at the other two. He misses most of the time, but on one occasion, a projectile finds James. “Ha! In the ankle!”

When he gets a whole branch back in his head, Jeremy and James burst into wheezes and braying laughs, breaking the serenity of the forest. Richard rubs the sore spot, silently cursing the other two under his breath, deciding it best not to mess with the bull anymore, because its horns really hurt.

They walk uphill and downhill, left and right, over the creek and under the protruding rocks and fallen trees. Not really conversing much and letting the birds and other animals do the talking. Their peculiar guide is silent apart from the rhythmic panting. They sit to eat their packed lunch after which Jeremy and James lit another fag and wrap the butts in tissues and pack them in rucksacks before they go because they are civilised human beings.

“Rich, look!” points Jeremy sometime in early evening, finger showing up in the tree tops.

Richard does and immediately visibly shudders and begins to splutter incoherent words, grabbing at James’ arm and attempting to hide behind him like that was sort of thing that would help.

Above their heads, in a group of three huge oaks, was a thick cluster of communal spider webs, covering leaves and branches like a transparent grey table cloth.

Richard hides under his friend’s arm. “James…” he whines.

James chuckles, but doesn’t shake him off. “I don’t see any spiders”, he says, searching the amazing architecture.

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“Fantastic”, breathes Jeremy, falling into one of his nature-dazed trances.

“I don’t’ like this”, Richard says loudly, not loosening his grip on James, and looking down on the ground. “I’m very unhappy.”

“We know, Hammond”, says James, voice carrying some sympathy. He manages to release his arm from the death grip and swing an arm around Richard’s hunched shoulders with Richard now having to clutch at James’ shirt and bury his head under his friend's pit, trying to subdue his panic. “Don’t worry, we’ll let you know when it’s over.”

“Why does Croatia hate me?”

“It doesn’t hate you, Hamster. You just always happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time whenever you’re here. Or in one of their cars.”

Jeremy chuckles at this and looks up in the midst of walking. “That is truly astonishing. If only my phone was working... How many meters do you reckon this has?”

“Don’t want to know”, Richard’s voice hitches.

“Spiders were the first architects, Hammond. Would it kill you to appreciate their work?”

Richard carefully lifts his head so he could plainly glare at Jeremy. “Yes, Jez. Yes, it would.”

“Alright, here we are”, says James after a few more minutes. “No more spiders. We passed them.”

Richard doesn’t immediately let go and James waits until the younger man collects his courage. Once he is thoroughly convinced the danger is gone, the blood-clogging grip releases James and Richard clears his throat and tries to pretend like nothing has happened, sending James into a series of amused chuckles.

“Hang on a minute, chaps”, Jeremy lifts a hand after a while. “The night is falling. Where are we supposed to sleep? I don’t think I fancy actually sleeping on the forest floor.”

“Well, I’m sure GT there has no problem with that, given that he knows what he’s doing”, James paraphrases, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, we all listened to the man with a rifle”, Jeremy protests.

“He gave us lamb goulash, why would he deliberately send us to get lost in the forest with a dog?”

Up ahead, the dog _woo_ ’s, jumping a little on his front legs as he does so.

“He’s right”, Richard agrees. “I don’t fancy listening to your senseless squabble, either. Look.”

What Richard was pointing at was a shape hiding among the trees. Its straight, gleaming rectilinear features defied properties of nature. When they near it, they realize it’s a hut. A cottage, better say, since from the outside it appeared quite spacious.

The dog leaps onto a small wooden porch, looking up at the door handle and back at the three men, waiting on them.

“Wow”, says James. “Look at that… It’s like one of those bothies in Scotland, only wooden.”

As it turns out, it was unlocked and after loudly announcing their presence and scanning the entirety of the wooden space, they discover it’s empty. It had a central room with a couch, a thin round carpet in front of it, a table with four chairs, and a log-burning pellet stove in the middle of the room whose pipe went up to the ceiling, probably connected to a chimney. There was also a small kitchen, two small bedrooms with single beds and a tiny bathroom which only contained a toilet and a small sink.

“It’s like a gas station in the middle of the woods”, beams Jeremy, looking around the small place.

“It’s probably a stop for people who are passing so anybody can use it”, observes Richard, opening the cabinets. “Look, there’s plates, glasses, mugs, and cuttlery… and coffee and some biscuits! And canned beans and corn, look at that!”

“Regulars probably come restock it all the time”, concludes James. “Or whoever comes replaces the thing they’ve used with something of their own.”

“There’s blankets in these closets”, calls Jeremy from one of the rooms.

Jeremy and Richard take the rooms and James gets the central one. When Jeremy offers to light a fire, James pokes him in the chest, saying that if he doesn’t want to get stabbed with an ash shovel, he will do good to stay as far away from it as possible.

So while Jeremy is complaining to Richard about lack of trust, James lights the stove, first with small kindling and twigs, before the fire ignited successfully enough for proper logs to be added just as it got completely dark. He uses matches to light candles in lanterns; two of them hanging in the living room, one in the kitchen and two in each room.

They sit at the table, eating remains of the lunch they had from Karlovac using the dishes from the kitchen. Jeremy separates one fourth in a small bowl and lowers it down to the floor so the dog can have some as well. Something the animal shows its appreciation for by lapping it all up until there was nothing left. He fills another one with water, big enough so that it lasts the animal through the night.

They are so exhausted they don’t have energy to talk until wee hours and given how they’ve practically spent all beer from the gas station and there was no wine in this cottage, Richard and Jeremy quickly depart each to their own room. James does the dishes, warming his hands afterwards near the pleasant heat of the stove, distinguishes the lanterns and unfolds the blanket he’s prepared.

The dog is already snoozing on the carpet, laying on its side and enjoying the warmth of the fire filling the room.

James tries to work on the _Walkman_ for a while, but the warmth of the blanket is making him drowsier and drowsier and the soft sound of logs cracking sooths his nerves and soon enough, he is out like a light as well.

* * *

Richard wakes up in the dead of night with leftovers of some flight-mode-activating sounds echoing in his ears. The feeling of uneasiness encloses around him like a flower petal and he is tense as a string. He looks around the small room and quickly finds a culprit.

It was a shape lingering outside his window that he can’t quite discern against the darkness. It almost looks like it’s peeking inside, trying to be unnoticeable. In rising heartbeat and panic, Richard only manages to discern a lot of dark hair and a thin, long black slit where the face is supposed to be.

His brain kickstarts into overdrive, listing down all the possible explanations. A deer. A bear. An owl. A lynx. A weird kind of tree.

Wait, are lynxes even tall enough to reach that high up?

Before he can scrutinize that, the silhouette jerks back out of frame so quickly he would’ve missed it if he had blinked in that moment.

“Nope”, he says and keeps repeating the word all through gathering his blanket and fleeting the room and across the hall, panic-suppressing words finally dying off once he squeezes next to the wall on Jeremy’s bed, trying to control his breathing and begging to God the oaf doesn’t wake up.

Jeremy’s snores die off, but he doesn’t wake up. Richard is about to sigh in relief and settle down when a large hand settles at the back of his neck and gently begins to massage his nape.

Richard freezes and looks up. Jeremy’s eyes are still closed and he’s quietly mumbling incoherent sounds as he normally does in his sleep, so Richard has reason to believe Jeremy’s actions are completely unconscious.

Gradually, he relaxes against his friend’s touch. There was no reason for a concern now. There are no cameras, no crew, no script. Not even James. There was only two of them. One and a half, given Jeremy is practically still asleep. So… Richard decides to accept the gesture for what it is for once.

He presses his forehead into Jeremy’s chest, searching for warmth and comfort he so desperately needed in this moment and feeling his neck beginning to complain against the hard surface of the old mattress.

Bollocks. In his rush to escape whatever was lurking at his window he completely forgot about the pillow.

Never mind. He’s been worse.

What is most important is that the window in Jeremy’s room is entirely obscured from Richard’s view by his friend’s bulky form. Even as Jeremy’s actions slow down and completely cease not soon after, Richard falls asleep knowing without question that he’s safe now.

Not much later, James wakes up as well, sitting up and waiting for his head to stop spinning, then he gets up and hisses when the warm blanket slides off his body and cold air assaults every nerve in his body, waking him fully.

He takes a log and puts it in the stove to keep the fire going and leaves his hands inside for a moment longer, enjoying the warmth until it quickly turned into a stinging heat. When he straightens back up, he realizes he needs a wee.

He goes into the small bathroom, using shivery light of fire as a weak source of light to navigate, and silently curses the cold ceramic seat when he sits on the throne, then blinks in surprise when he realizes he has a visitor.

The dog walks over and sits a step away, eyes barely kept open.

James frowns. “If you’re so tired why did you even need to follow me? Go back to sleep.”

The dog gives a single, tired blink, squinting in effort to stay awake.

“Are all dogs this insistently loyal? It’s annoying.”

James watches the dog’s head sinking down and then being flinched back up, repeatedly fighting against fatigue, and when he is finished the old dog almost looks relieved and raises to his feet with painstaking effort and follows James back to the common area where he promptly slides down onto his side on the carpet and falls back asleep in seconds.

“Dogs are weird”, James mumbles, safe under the thick blanket again before following the animal’s lead.

* * *

It was nothing particularly obvious that woke James in the morning. Nothing visible, audible or touchable, albeit slightly olfactory. He slowly opens his eyes into slits and doesn't scream or do anything abrupt when he sees the dog's nappy snout resting on the edge of the couch centimeters from his face. Seeing James awake makes the dog produce a happy whine and begin wagging his tail, watching him with gentle amber eyes.

"Is it time already?" croaks James tiredly.

The dog gives another quiet whine, licking James' nose with a soft, pink tongue. James lets him for a few moments, purely out of courtesy before sitting up and rubbing the fatigue out of his face with his palms just in time when Jeremy steps into the room.

“I woke up with a Hamster clutching onto my arm”, he says, half-puzzled, arms stretched in the air.

James gives him a look that is equally puzzled. “Any clue why?”

Jeremy shrugs. “Bad dream?”

“Those deer did traumatize him”, James grins at the memory, making for the kitchen to prepare coffee while Jeremy pets the dog on the head.

James uses his lighter to turn on the stove and puts a coffeepot filled with water to heat up, adding a spoonful of sugar.

Jeremy sniffs from the couch, enjoying the warmth James’ body had left behind. “Have you seen a clock anywhere in here?”

“No, why?”

“Well… today is the third day”, Jeremy explains. “The train departs at eleven.”

Oh, yes. They had a ride to fetch.

“Surely we could stay somewhere if we miss it. It wasn’t a problem so far”, James attempts to assure him.

“May”, Jeremy pleads, a strange look in his eye under this bedhair with curls going all around the place. Something close to panic. “We’ve been walking for three days now and I feel like we haven’t moved anywhere. Everything looks the same. I don’t want to waste another day, let alone two. I _need_ us to catch that train.”

James observes him, that calculating look in his eye and a pensive pout pursing his lips. It wasn’t Jeremy’s trait to be concerned, but when it would happen, like during their ascent up the side of a volcano in Chile, when ‘they are a team up here, because this isn’t funny’, then you knew the games are really over.

James looks out of a window. “I don’t think it’s that late, though. The sun is still pretty low. The light is more orange than yellow.”

Just as James brings the steaming coffee and pours it in two cups, Richard appears, hair looking wilder than normal, sticking up in all directions, wrapped up in warm plaid blanket like a prepared pancake.

“Oh, look, Nina is up”, says James, grinning as Jeremy chuckles.

“I will grind you both into coffee”, promises Richard, taking a seat and mumbling a tired thank you when a cup has been slid into his hands.

He shifts on the chair and looks around the room in awkward manner until Jeremy decides he’s suffered enough. He rests one large hand on his shoulder and gives the younger man a reassuring look that says it all. Richard returns a grateful smile, the fact that Jeremy doesn’t verbally mention it stored inside it, and squeezes Jeremy’s arm before he proceeds to drown himself in coffee.

After the elixir of sanity, they eat canned corn for breakfast, all four of them, then Jeremy hurries them up and does the dishes himself while the other two make beds and put folded blankets where they found them. Soon enough, they are on the porch, closing the door behind them.

“We didn’t leave anything”, notices James a bit guiltily.

“Do we even have anything left?” asks Richard, concerned.

“We left good spirits!” says Jeremy confidently, but James quickly disappears into the cottage again and re-emerges a moment later.

“I left two packs of fags and the rest of the alcohol I nicked from the gas station”, he shrugs. “Since us three greedy idiots couldn’t help but eat the house out of everything. Figured it’s at least something.”

“Right. Lead the way, GT!” shouts Jeremy.

The dog resumes its guide duty. He only stops once on a fork in the path. He is sniffing the air curiously while the other stand a few meters back before finally deciding for the left trail after some time.

“I still don’t think he knows what he’s doing”, insists James.

“Leave it, James, he’s just old, just like you”, Richard grins cheekily.

They tread while the sun is rising up and James notes that Jeremy grows more intense with every taken step. Just as it seemed he was going to jump out of his skin, the dog stops.

They all turn to him. “What?” asks James.

The dog does a cut-off half-bark and sneezes, shaking its head.

“I think this is as far as he goes”, says Richard.

“Does that mean we’re close or lost?” asks James.

Richard rubs his chin. “Tell you what. 20 quid say it’s a little bit more of walking and we’re there, and the dog knew what he was doing all along.”

“You’re on.”

“Thanks, Grand Tour Dog!” shouts Jeremy, waving.

The dog, already walking back, doesn’t acknowledge Jeremy as he begins his long journey to the beginning of the track to dutifully await other passengers – provided they have something to pay with.


	5. The Unfixed Bridges and Confession Trains

The three men continue until trees finally thin out and reveal good and bad news.

The good news is that there is a road just there, just behind the final row of treeline. A dozen more meters and they’d be there. And across that road – first houses. The houses of a small town. They made it.

Bad news is that all of that was separated from them by a deep crack in the ground. The distance didn’t look to be enough for a jump. The problem was that the depth of the crack went pretty deep. Thirty meters is Richard’s estimation because James daren’t have looked.

The look left and right says it’s the same as far as the eye can see.

There is another piece of news that could be divided to good and bad. Good news is that there’s a bridge. There are two wooden poles with firm rope knots on their side of the gap, hammered deep into the ground, at the safe distance from the pestling edge.

Bad news is that the rest of the bridge is across. Its whole limp construction and the ropes are on the other side like old snake skin.

“Was there an earthquake?” James asks no one in particular.

“No idea, but it doesn’t look good”, complains Jeremy, looking back. Like he’s expecting the dog to come barrelling down the track and offer them advice.

“What are we going to do now?” asks Richard, genuinely afraid they walked all the way here for nothing. His first thought is to blame the dog, but how could an animal know the bridge is broken in the most inconvenient way? Well, actually, even if it was on their side, it would still be inconvenient.

Then a shrill, high-pitched noise pierces the otherwise eerily silent morning air. It’s a whistle, unmistakeably.

“That’s the train!” yells Jeremy. “We have to cross this!”

They try to walk along the split, searching for its end or the narrower part to possibly jump it, but no such luck. All along, it’s a stubborn, unfair border.

“I wish I could fly!” cries Richard when they meet back where the bridge was, looking down the deep gorge.

Jeremy looks at him, then at the cavernous depth, then at the opposite side, and does a quick math. Maybe too quick.

“Wish granted!” Before Richard can react, Jeremy firmly grabs him by the back of the jacket, swings him and throws him across. Richard flails his arms through the air, screaming his head off before the sound gets cut off abruptly when Richard lands hard on his side on solid ground of the other end.

“Bloody hell, man”, whispers James, horrified.

Richard pushes himself off the ground and stumbles a little, clutching his knees for a few seconds and taking panting breaths.

“Are you alright?” calls Jeremy.

Richard shoots him a murderous look. “Don’t ever”, he jabs a livid finger his way, “throw me again.”

Jeremy winces, but the apology he was going to throw is interrupted by another train whistle. 

Richard wastes no time in throwing the rope-bound group of planks along with the rope’s extension and swivel eye clasps so Jeremy can attach them to two wooden poles on their side. The bridge’s railing made of rope knots is almost as wobbly as the bridge itself so there is almost nothing to hold onto and Jeremy wobbles dangerously until he decides going wide and quick was the best option. He crosses it in three steps, the bridge teetering almost entirely to the side right after he pushes off his last bounce and lands next to Richard.

Jeremy turns around, looking a bit shaken. “Alright, James.”

James stares at the still swinging thing separating him from his friends and swallows.

“No shaking your head, Slow, that train is departing any second now and I don’t want to wait another day before I get on an actual vehicle.”

Was he shaking his head? He didn’t even realize.

James takes a reluctant step onto the thin boards and, feeling an unstable surface tremble beneath his foot, hastily withdraws it.

Richard mouths to say something, but Jeremy bests him.

“Hey. Hey. James, look at me. Look at me, come on.”

And James does. Looking and feeling like an absolute child, reduced naked until there is nothing left but bare terror. He felt like he was going to throw up any second.

“My eyes are here. Here. Right here”, Jeremy points two of his fingers to his eyes for emphasis. “Come on, look at me. Look at my ugly face. Come and punch it, come on. Come punch me in the face, James, it’s right here. I’m giving you my face to punch.”

Richard exchanges a glance between the two and slowly backs out of James’ frame of view. He decides to give this one to Jeremy. A Jeremy he’d frankly never seen before.

“It’s only six steps”, Jeremy assures James, holding his hands out towards him. “Six steps, I promise you. Six steps and you get to pick up your award that I know you’ve been wanting to do for years. Come on.”

Shaking like a leaf, James takes a step and bloody nearly almost faints. He clutches at the roped railing until his fingers turn white. But his wide eyes never leave Jeremy’s.

“There we go, good job. Come on, five more. I’ll catch you. I’ll be right here when you cross, I promise you, James.”

James’ leg feels like it’s made out of wood after he takes another step. His nasal breathing is as maniacally shivering as his entire body and the construction is shaking with him. His most primal instinct wants to make him look down, but Jeremy’s blue eyes are, luckily, firmer. Another step.

“Brilliant, mate. Three more, come on. You’re going to have to loosen your grip on the ropes, James. You don’t have to let go, just flex your fingers so you can move your hands along.”

James absent-mindedly realizes he is right and does as he was told. He is exactly halfway.

Something gives in from behind then and there is a rough-sounding _crack_ as the bridge shifts and sinks ever so slightly.

James sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, whining involuntary as his shakes intensify. He looks at the traitorous nailed boards beneath his feet. Whoever first engineered these and thought they were a good idea must’ve gotten a special place in hell.

“It’s alright, eyes on me. Hey! Eyes on me, James.”

He lifts his head and Jeremy is there, like before, eyes firm and secure.

“I have you, James”, Jeremy assures him. “Come on.”

There is another _creak_ from behind. It doesn’t tone down. It just keeps squeaking.

“I have you”, promises Jeremy, hands held out. Behind him, James can see Richard biting fiercely through his nails.

James takes two deep breaths through his nose. Then he lets go.

He covers two wide steps in fastest succession he’s ever done and at the second one, one of the wooden poles on the other side snaps and the bridge flips over to its side. But Jeremy is already catching James who crashes into him with full weight and almost topples them both over.

Even when they retain their balance, James still clutches tightly at Jeremy, shivering with his whole body, face buried under Jeremy’s chin. The older man can only watch horrified at the teetering bridge of which one side of the four is hanging lose above the chasm.

That was cutting it way too close.

Jeremy absently strokes James’ hair, exhaling into it through his nose, thanking all heavens his friend was safe in his arms. He hears steps and then Richard is here, putting an arm around each of them, trying to squeeze his head between them.

“Still waiting for that punch”, Jeremy murmurs.

“Shut up, Clarkson”, says a muffled voice from his chest. But Jeremy is happy to feel the shakes are much weaker now and the grip on his jacket is slackening one deep breath at a time.

“You owe me twenty quid”, Richard whispers, and James makes a sudden sound, an explosion between a laughter and a sob.

A whistle goes off in the distance again.

Richard backs away and Jeremy holds out James at arms’ length. “Alright?”

James nods firmly after a moment and they take off down the path.

When they emerge from the bush, the train station is right there, across the road, the small town of Ogulin behind it. Makes sense. Train station on the edge of the town.

Richard is the quickest and he crosses the curvy road and jumps across the fence separating the platform. “It’s moving!” he shouts.

Jeremy and James speed up their steps and join Richard soon by which point the youngest man is in pursuit of the open wagon as the train begins to steadily gain speed. He hooks his hands onto the edge and hauls himself up, lifting his body over the edge.

“Come on!” he calls to his friends.

Jeremy is next and he takes considerably more effort and Richard has to help him. James’ speed-walk is not nearly enough anymore.

“You’re not on television, James, run!” Jeremy yells, holding out a hand.

James does. He shakes the rucksack off first and flings it inside. Then, grabbing at both of his friends’ forearms, gets pulled up and into the wagon.

Few seconds later and the train would be moving way too fast for any of them to catch it, even if they ran.

* * *

For a few minutes, nobody talks. Everybody takes their time to evaluate their own problems. They realize the toll this journey has already taken on them. Chugging of the train and gentle rocking of the wagon are their only company.

Jeremy is the first to open his mouth.

“Can we name this a Confession Train?” he asks.

Richard looks up from under his eyelashes. “Why?”

“So whatever is said in this train receives full immunity and is never spoken of or mentioned again after we get off it?” suggests Jeremy back.

Richard looks at him for a moment, then nods. “You first.”

“Fair enough”, Jeremy takes a deep breath. “I’m very sorry I threw you across the hole”, he apologizes sheepishly. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I wasn’t thinking at all.”

Richard is frowning, still rather cross about that. “You’re right you weren’t thinking. What was the matter with you? You seriously could’ve killed me. This isn’t an episode stunt with a million health-and-safety forums filled.”

“I know I was just… scared, I think”, says Jeremy, dejected. “I didn’t want us to get stuck somewhere again. Didn’t want to take any more chances.”

Richard observes him for a while, then finally smiles tiredly. He reaches out and pats his friend’s knee. “I know. You were acting on impulse. Just promise me never to do that again.”

Jeremy beams. “Of course. Promise.”

Richard nods, then tips his chin to the opening of the train where James was sitting, staring absently at the landscape. “I think someone is due for a check-up”, he says gently.

Jeremy nods and stands up with a grunt of effort, inwardly cursing the pain in his joints. He nears James carefully, like he might startle him, voice equally cautious when he speaks.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

James brushes him with a gaze before quickly averting it back outside, like he’s afraid that by looking at Jeremy something inside him was going to break.

“It’s alright, James, we just named this—”

“I know. I heard”, he smiles weakly, then looks Jeremy genuinely in the eye. “Thank you. You probably saved my life out there.”

“No, I almost killed us all”, Jeremy winces. “I was so fixed we ought to catch this train that I put it in front of wellbeing of both of you. Richard is right. I could’ve killed you.”

James squints. “I don’t like this Confession Train. It’s weird and wrong. I’m too used to your complaining, whining self.”

“Oi! I don’t whine.”

“That’s debatable”, laughs James and claps Jeremy on the shoulder. “It’s alright, man. Don’t get eaten up with it. We’re safe now and we made it. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m serious, James”, Jeremy sighs. “If anything were to happen to you two, I don’t think I’d be able to live with it.”

“I know, Jezza. I know”, a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder squeezes comfortingly. “Same goes for us two.”

They sit together for a while, enjoying the landscape and pointing out epic mountains, old isolated castles and gorgeous scenery. They talk whatever until Jeremy stretches and announces he’s off to catch some shut-eye and withdraws to where Richard was already quietly snoring.

James retracts to his little corner on the other side of the wagon to finish the _Walkman_. It was getting close. The moment of truth was almost there. Just one. More. Little. Screw. There we go.

He plugs in the thin headphones and puts them on his head. Then takes a deep breath and presses _play_.

A soft buzz of a cassette kicks into motion. Gentle acoustic guitar begins plucking in his ears.

James almost jumps with joy. He did it! The Reassembler strikes again! Ha! Can he fix it or what?

Grinning like a madman, James only then notices letters scribbled on the cassette. He reads the title and cannot believe.

It’s a _Voyager I_ playlist.

Kid has a cassette with tracks that are currently surging through outer space on his _Walkman_.

James looks over at his two companions. They are both sitting against the farther wall between two heavy boxes, Richard pillowing Jeremy’s shoulder and Jeremy the top of Richard’s head. Both fast asleep despite just waking up some four hours ago.

James leans his head back against the wooden wall of the wagon and closes his eyes, letting “ _Dark Was The Night_ ” from Blind Willie Johnson and the train’s gentle rocking lull him to the feeling of safety and, eventually, sleep as well.

He listens on through Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Chuck Berry, Bulgarian, Indian, Papuan, Australian and Native American folklore music and feels like he is surging through the universe, probing at unknown vastness.

* * *

They are all abruptly awoken by a strong lurch that topples over some of the boxes followed by loud screeching. James jerks awake, breathing heavily, leftovers of weightless freefall nightmare dispersing out of his brain and limbs.

Richard crawls over the floor, teeth gritted against shrill sounds of train breaks against the rails. He reaches the opening of the wagon and looks outside. Jeremy and James are quick to join him, albeit on their feet.

The landscape has changed. Instead of majestic mountains, thick pine forests and rivers, the environment was now flat, with tallest vegetation being dry bushes and low trees, but mostly rock, reddle and bare brown foil.

“Think we might’ve slept longer than we should’ve, chaps”, notices Richard as the sound of the breaks was dying out and the train slowed down enough so they could discern the ground beneath it.

“I agree with you. Look”, points Jeremy forward to the front of the train.

A group of men mingled around the locomotive, dressed in similar, dark clothing. Two of them were vigorously shooting questions at the driver who seemed just as alarmed as confused. The others began to snake along the train, peering into the wagons and climbing them, then coming back out seemingly empty-handed and continuing on.

“Oh, cock”, says James. “I think it’s the rozzers.”

“They’re searching the train”, notes Jeremy.

“Do you know those stories you hear on the telly?” mentions Richard. “How they discover immigrants on trains? Well… it always ends up a bit painful for them when they get discovered.”

“We’re not immigrants”, Jeremy points out.

“Yeah, but we’re not exactly indigenous, either, are we?”

James gulps. “What do we do?”

“I say we skedaddle”, Jeremy suggests. “That always works on all occasions.”

“But they might be able to help”, says James.

“How willing are you to find that out?” asks Richard, already scrambling over the edge. He looks a bit comical as he dangles off the edge, swimming in empty air with his legs. “Heard police plugs aren’t that soft.”

“Make way”, hurries Jeremy, getting down from the wagon much more easily, but not more graceful and holds Richard by the hips to lower him down to the ground safely. Something the latter miraculously doesn’t protest. Maybe he’s too concerned about the rozzers. “We rode what we rode. It’s on foot from here again. Coming, James?”

James has to stuff the _Walkman_ into the pouch before carefully making his descent, landing on low grass protruding from the gravel.

They scramble down a steep grassy slope, hopeful they haven’t been seen and end up in a mess of dry, twisted trees and sharp bush they mind to avoid and dry rocks that make their step unstable.

“If you see a grey snake that has a zigzag pattern on its back and two horns coming from its head, that’s a horned viper”, says Jeremy helpfully. “Here they have a name for it that goes something like _‘jumper’_ , I think. Because it jumps.”

“Thanks for the input, Attenborough”, shudders Richard, suddenly much more aware of his surroundings.

“They have European adders, too”, continues Jeremy, treading first in the line over slippery rock piles. “Their venom putrefies flesh.”

“Very educational, you can stop now”, pleads Richard, looking at his feet and minding each step. Each bush suddenly became a threat and he constantly scanned the thin treetops.

“They also have black widows”, continues Jeremy. “And scorpions.”

A giant flying bug approaches and buzzes around them curiously; that buzz sounded deeper than any ordinary wasp or fly and its size wasn’t exactly ignorable. Which Richard proves by emitting series of yelps and would’ve fallen over had James not caught him from behind.

“Oh, yes, and horse-flies, too!” cheers Jeremy with a traitorous grin.

“I am very unhappy!” Richard yells, figuring they are deep enough in the bush so the rozzers can’t hear them anymore. “I’m never coming back to Croatia ever again!”

“I’m sure they’ll understand”, laughs James, placing a palm on Richard’s back to encourage him to keep walking. “Come on. I think it’s best if we climb up to an uplift of sorts and see where we can go from there. There has to be a road somewhere.”

“That hill over there”, Jeremy points ahead, at the bare hill deprived of trees and bush and nothing but dry grass.

Having an impression of safety, Richard shoots past Jeremy to escape this suspenseful hell of thick brush and trees swarming with life that threatened to extinguish his. Jeremy and James burst into laughter at his small figure attempting to run uphill, clearly revelling in his headstart.

“Think he knows snakes call grass home, too?” James asks Jeremy.

“I think we’ll find out if he encounters one”, giggles Jeremy as they, too, finally exit the thicket and quickly check themselves for ticks which they thankfully, don’t find.

James suddenly goes still.

“Shh. You hear that?” he lifts a finger.

“What?” Jeremy looks around, but doesn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. Wind rustling through the leaves, cicadas and buzzing insects.

“There’s something”, James insists, beginning to climb the slope, seeing Richard is nearly at the top. “Some cacophony, don’t you hear it?”

“Give me a break, James, I’m an old man”, he insists, having to stop mid-ascent to catch a breather and curse his bad back.

James chuckles, deciding to patiently wait for him. “I’m not that far behind, do you see me complaining?”

“Shut up, Slow, you’re not human, your blood is alcohol, your bones dehydrated and you showed up to first day of work in a Bentley.”

“So buying a Ford GT which constantly breaks down and needs fuel every five miles is human?”

“At least I looked good while I was driving it.”

“Whatever you say, you fat oaf who can barely fit in most supercars.”

“Uhh, chaps”, says Richard, a bit distractedly. “You really need to see this.”

When James and Jeremy finally reach the top of the hill as well, they immediately shut up, not believing the sight.


	6. The Hamster Football and The Benefits of the Apocalypse

There is a small valley after which there’s a stretch of empty space. No hills, no mountains and no trees. There’s even a road a bit farther. Not a macadam, gravel road. A real, two-lane concrete road — a hint of civilisation.

The valley was surely meant to yawn empty in normal circumstances. Now it’s occupied by thousands of cheering, chanting and singing people with a notable amount of oval empty space in the middle, so they form a sort of small people-made stadium.

“Wow! What is that?” Richard beams.

“Let’s go find out”, suggests Jeremy, already beginning the descent, thrilled beyond measure to finally see other people in such great, right number.

They reach the crowd quickly and the smell of barbeque, beer and pyrotechnics hit their noses. All over the place there are stands with steaming pots of sausages, burgers and mulled wine. There are huge barrels with enticing-looking beer pouring out of them.

“Chaps”, says Jeremy. “I think we just stumbled into some sort of paradise.”

“Shall we find out what’s going on?” suggests James, pointing a thumb to the nearest stand were a young man is giving out beer to two other people. Trying to ignore saliva pouring into their mouths at all intriguing smells, they make their way over.

“Hello”, Jeremy greets politely and loudly to outvoice the crowd, hoping the man speaks English. “Do you mind telling us what’s happening?”

Much like the rifle-man and his son from before, this bloke turns to his female colleague on the same stand and tells her something that has this word that sounds like ‘ _tourists’_ , but he looks and sounds cheerful and genuine as he says it, so Jeremy cannot find any antipathy in whatever he said.

The young man turns back to the three men, providing them with explanation in a decently smooth accent, but which still carried the traitorous Slavic touch.

“With this blackout thing, people were going crazy. No phones, no television, no music, nothing to do. So we organized this ourselves. Posted flyers, sent letters and people on bicycles. You don’t need cellphones to spread out the words. Anyone could come! So word branched out quickly, and here we are! We make little festival, no?”

Little is an understatement. Or maybe the three men just forgot what a real crowd is.

To their utmost delight, the beer, the food and other goodies were free. James can’t believe their luck as he heartfully thanks the young man who serves all three of them cold beer in big plastic cups.

For a minute, they just stand there with their eyes closed revelling in the cold, fresh drink, letting it caress their tongues and separating themselves from the rest of the world. Then when the need to breathe prevails, they look at each other, grinning out of control.

The other thing they notice is that they are sticking out from the crowd like a sore thumb not only because of different nationality, but clothes as well. Each of them, to the last, sported a red-and-white checkered football jersey. Some with footballers’ names on their back, some not. Some — particularly younger generations — wore other requisites, like huge checkered top hats, enormous plastic glasses with small flags, and fan scarves.

Granted the three Brits don’t appear to be the only outsiders there — surprisingly, there are people with huge Czech, Polish and Slovenian flags. Perhaps tourists that got stuck there during this unintended blackout.

The three men decide to split because everybody wanted to explore something else. James, predictably, immediately makes a beeline towards the home-made brandy stand.

The general atmosphere feels very spontaneous and good-spirited, so Jeremy decides to near the chanting and singing, thicker part of the crowd, situated closer to the centre.

The empty spot in the middle turns out to be very conveniently set. The valley shape curved inward like a shallow bowl so the flat space that was left open in the middle stayed empty while the gentle slope was meant for spectators to observe what was going on without the visibility problem. People of all ages are here, chanting in one single cacophonic noise, following the rhythm of several drummers scattered around the empty centre.

Well, almost empty.

The middle of the valley is an improvised football field — only it doesn’t appear to be played traditionally.

The players, split into ones dressed in white, and the others dressed in red, are chasing the ball alright, attempting to stuff it in the set-up nets — whilst being in giant transparent inflatable balls of their own. The shooting ball itself is a bit bigger, lighter and bouncier than the normal one.

It’s an utterly bizarre sight, one that Jeremy just can’t comprehend. He knows a bit about football, seeing as his son is a big Chelsea fan, but not enough to realize the sense of this.

“What is this all about?” he asks the nearest man who has a small blonde girl sitting on his shoulders, probably his daughter.

“Is Hamster football”, says the man, gesturing to the field with one hand, taking the girl’s leg with it. “Is like normal football, but with huge balls for running. Very hard to score.”

“Hamster football, you say?” Jeremy comments, a cunning glimmer appearing in his eyes and a huge grin growing on his face. “Is anyone allowed to participate?” he asks hopefully.

“Yes, you just have to sign up a name for a match”, the man confirms.

“Goal, goal!” the little girl tells Jeremy.

“Yes, I think I might have a candidate who will be able to pull that”, Jeremy assures her with a wink.

* * *

Richard, feeling very sociable after three days of almost constant isolation with only a fat ape and irritating spaniel to tag along with, is gleefully chatting with a group of teenagers when he feels a tap of the shoulder. It’s James and Jeremy, the latter of which holds out what appears to be hand-mixed and home-made warm bread bun filled with something.

“Cheers”, Richard thanks him and bites in, feeling juicy grilled meat, salad and onion spread pleasantly around his tongue. “That’s brilliant! What is it?” he asks around a mouthful.

“They call it _‘ćevapi’_ ”, punctuates Jeremy every syllable. “They look like literal shite but it’s one of the best things I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Likewise”, confirms James, munching on a bun sandwich of his own. “Balkan people generally make best things with meat. Macedonians in particular. And rakias as well”, he raises a glass shot Richard hasn’t noticed before and tips it back without missing a beat. He exhales happily, then eyes Jeremy. “What did they call this one? My brain got all tangled up when the bloke said its name.”

“ _Shljiv- - schlav—silv-_ \- oh for God’s sake, it’s plum brandy, James”, Jeremy gives up, fearing his tongue may trip and break something. “I’m not keen on spending the rest of my days trying to pronounce a bloody foreign tongue twister.”

“It’s strong, though. None of ours are this strong”, notices James, eyeing an empty glass with a bit of melancholy. “I’m gonna order some of those for my pub in South Wilshire.”

“Make sure you eat all of it, Rich”, Jeremy advises his small friend between munches. “You’ll need strength because we signed you up for a game.”

Richard nearly chokes on his lunch. “You, what?”

“You’re going to play Hamster football”, Jeremy says definitely, craning his neck to see above the heads. “The current match should end in a few minutes. Plenty of time for you to get down there and get ready.”

“You _bastards_! What- - and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Well what would be the point? You’d just say no. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

* * *

It’ll be fun, yeah, Richard thinks, now sporting a plain white t-shirt and gulping at an empty transparent ball. He’s just seen players stumble out of them all beaten up, bruised up and completely knackered. One bloke had to be physically pulled out by two of his friends. And Richard was pretty convinced he was unconscious.

He looks around the improvised stadium and the wilding crowd who, as spectators, are having the time of their lives. James is up there somewhere rubbing his palms together at Richard’s approaching ill fate. Bastard.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He’s way too old for things like this.

“Just give your best shot”, Jeremy encourages his smaller friend, squeezing his shoulder. “Remember, Hamster. This entire game is practically designed for you. The Croatians named a version of football after _you_. You are _destined_ to play it.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, mate, yeah”, sighs Richard, being nudged by a man holding the Hamster ball in place as Richard mutters a ‘I’m going to regret this’ whilst cursing his friends going behind his back without his consent and climbing into his inflatable prison.

Jeremy turns to a bloke who looked to be the ref. He doesn’t have a hamster ball, though. “How frightened do you think the players of the opposite team would be if I’d tell them that the angriest man in the world is just entering that ball right now?”

* * *

James very quickly realizes why he doesn’t feel awkward or threatened in this cheery company. They aren’t as stuck-up as Austrians, punctual and delicate as the Swiss, haughty as French or stoic perfectionists as Germans. Czechs, Croats, Poles, Slovaks and those alike are something else. A doorway to a whole new mentality. It’s like coming from school to the playground.

James quickly figures, endorphins at fresh, home-made brandy swarming nicely around his brain, that Croats love to sing. And when they don’t know the text, they sing “ole, ole”, which is odd because James thought that was a Spanish word.

He joins a group of enthused young college students all checkered up in their red and white attires and requisites. “That’s my friend over there!” he feels like yelling over loud cheering and shows to a tiny figure entering a giant inflatable ball.

They seem just as enthused to see him like they have been friends for years. “Your friend?”

“Yes.”

“Are you English?” one of young men asks with no animosity in his voice whatsoever.

“Yes. And so is he.”

The group laughs all in good nature and James feels infected. “Good luck”, the one who spoke shows him the thumbs and James figures that as long as beer keeps being shared, he could stay right here for days and he wouldn’t mind. The Croats chant their heads off and he doesn’t mind it in the slightest.

The whistle goes off and the game starts. The players begin to roll in their Hamster balls, sending the black-and-white ball, another inflated thing but smaller, bouncing across the field. It quickly becomes clear just how difficult it is to keep it focused on desired trajectory as it constantly keeps trying to escape.

At first, Richard doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He grabbles around the pitch, seemingly having problems discerning where the ball is in the first place. Having lost from him one too many times in car football, James feels a warm ooze of wicked pleasure at the fact. _Yeah, that’s how it feels, Hamster._

Richard gets tumbled into and run over so much that all thoughts of vengeance disperse out of James’ head. One time, after finally getting possession of the ball, he gets rammed into by an opposing player so hard that he gets thrown all the way to first rows of people. A deep, sharp _‘ooh!’_ spills over the audience, James among them.

He wonders then if they may have taken it too far. He wonders if he should try and find Jeremy so they can pull him out because no Hamster deserves death in a plastic inflatable Hamster ball.

Just as he is about to move, he sees Richard slowly stand up on his feet. Something in James vibrates and suddenly he is afraid for the fate of everyone else on the pitch.

The Hamster that runs back in is far from what has been bounced out of the pitch. It’s a little man who thinks he’s a bull weighing one ton and everything he sees wearing red and wielding a football ball, he pounds into with all his weight. Now he’s the main foul-maker, but, to James, he doesn’t seem like he cares. Richard just wants that ball in the net. This is Richard Hammond with a re-ignited ardour to prove he is someone who hates losing.

“Your friend is crazy, English!” the college kids tell him.

“You have no idea”, James shakes his head.

It’s a tough battle, and minutes pass, but nailing a good shot at the goalkeeper is difficult, let alone scoring. James learns from the youngsters that so far in the entire day, only one goal has ever fallen.

Then, shy from the final whistle, it happens.

It’s a pure accident, but a brilliant one.

The red goalkeeper is attempting to push the ball out and the two red players are coming at it to get it from the sides. They don’t see Richard charging in like a missile to get the ball; the small man is ridiculously fast in his Hamster ball.

He reaches the ball at the same time as the two opposing players and ends up sandwiched between them. Because elastic things have a tendency to sprout back into the original position, Richard ends up being catapulted into the air together with the black-and-white ball. It’s followed by another loud ‘ooh’ from the audience’s side and there is hair-gripping and suspense and full and empty cups falling out of hands.

Richard ends up tumbling into the goal together with the ball, shaking the net and nearly tipping the goalpost over.

This is followed by a moment of utter, incredible silence.

Then the Croats erupt into a barrage of deafening noise like final whistle just went off on World Cup final and they beat France 4:2. They are jumping around, hugging each other and cheering to the clouds. There are horns, vuvuzelas, torches and firecrackers — and the goal was achieved by a Brit.

The absurdity of it makes James start laughing uncontrollably. This causes the beer in his plastic cup to spill, but his newly found friends are quick to press another one in his hands.

Jeremy finds him no longer after. “Have you seen this?!” he asks enthusiastically. Someone dressed him into a checkered jersey and for the love of everything with that bulk of his he looks like a jam jar lid. The thought crumples James into a renewed guffawing frenzy.

“What?” Jeremy asks, but he’s giggling, too.

They watch as Richard, even tinier than normal from their point of view, scrambles out of the plastic confined space and begins jumping around, waving his arms and encouraging the audience to make some noise.

“Cheeky sod”, chuckles James, happier than ever, snaking an arm around Jeremy’s lower back in return when Jeremy embraces him across the shoulders and pulls him close, yelling along with everybody else. So, so, utterly happy.

They come down to pick up Richard when the players are exiting the balls.

Their small friend is roughed-up, has some bruises over his arms and legs and his hair is sticking up like porcupine needles, but other than that he’s a brilliant, beaming ball of sunshine.

“Am I a winner or what?” exclaims Richard after receiving congratulations from his teammates, spreading his arms.

“You didn’t even score, you just fell in by accident”, James accuses him with the biggest eye-squinting grin on his face.

“What?” Richard comically cups one ear, leaning towards them. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over my epic skills and ultimate victory. Losers.”

“We may have made a mistake in inflating his ego even more there, Jezza”, James jokes.

“Rich”, Jeremy grins suddenly, holding out an index finger. “Touch my finger.”

A little confused, clearly still under adrenaline, Richard doesn’t understand Jeremy’s point until he gets zapped fiercely by static electricity when he does as he’s told. The pain is real since he’s been rolling over in plastic for the past twenty minutes and he squeaks adorably, shaking his hand out and jumping up, making James laugh so hard the man thinks his sides are going to split.

It doesn’t do to break Richard’s spirits. He is still childishly euphoric about his achievement.

“Congratulations, Hammond”, Jeremy pats his smaller man on the shoulder as they are walking away to get more drinks. “You are an honorary Croat now.”

As the sun sinks below horizon, there are two more matches, but which don’t turn out to be nearly as exciting as the one their Hamster led, so the Croats call it quits.

The entertainment isn’t over, though. There’s more beer, more food and more shots. Richard is the centre of attention all evening, enthusiastically bragging about his past achievements and adventures to a large group of Croats gathered around and listening intently. Jeremy and James, watching from outskirts of this circle, can only shake their heads, eyeing each other every once in a while and bursting into laughter.

Then fires are being started and guitars are out and people gather into larger and smaller groups, some setting up tents they’ve brought along and air roars with music. And it’s genius because there is no one in circle of kilometres to be bothered by it. 

Richard’s cup is never empty and pretty soon, he stops making sense to his audience who think their entertainer is becoming less intriguing and more ridiculous by the minute. They soon begin dispersing, mostly because it becomes very late and people with children need to be heading home.

“Alright, Hamster. Time for bed, come on”, Jeremy tugs at his smaller friend’s arm, not entirely sober himself. Someone’s put a Croatian flag around the small man like Superman’s cape and Jeremy supposes it makes sense. Croatians are just as dedicated to football as Americans are to themselves.

Richard goes to sleep that night cheerfully singing “ _ole, ole_ ” to the tunes stuck in his ear and is followed by cheers and claps of support from the happy, tipsy Croats. They try to call them over – _piva, piva_ , they say, the only important word James needs to know in Croat other than _rakija_ – but Jeremy and James politely decline, gesturing fingers at Richard who looked like he wouldn’t last much longer.

He doesn’t. As soon as they make fair distance from the crowd, enough so that conversations, guitar and singing become a pleasant caress in their ears and they can observe the savagely, almost terrifyingly starry sky, Richard flops down onto the grass and is out like a light. Sharing a quiet chuckle among themselves, James and Jeremy arrange themselves on each side of Richard, Jeremy not laying down himself until he removes the cape/flag from under his small friend, rolls it up into a bundle and gently lifts Richard’s head so he could place the improvised pillow underneath it and carefully ease him back down again.

He and James stargaze, thinking how they had found one good thing should apocalypse really occur. They lay in silence for a while, simply content on enjoying the view and distant music and one would’ve thought they, a bit clattered themselves, would’ve followed Richard quickly, but then James speaks softly and drawling:

“Jez?”

“Mm.”

“I’m glad we crashed.”

Jeremy averts a surprised gaze to James, or as surprised as he can manage. Thanks to Richard’s smallness, he can observe James’ face over the messy mop of the youngest man’s head without having to shift, but James keeps his eyes insistently on the stars.

“I mean if we weren’t in such a hurry, I would’ve stayed for at least three more days just… having a pint after pint, and sing and enjoy life.” He sighs heavily. “Why do unexpected things have to happen to force us to realize that life doesn’t have to be that hard?”

“You’re thinking, James”, Jeremy murmurs, feeling drowsiness take over his mind and everything it controls, including the voice box. “Thinking makes you a philosopher, which makes annoying sounds come out from the middle of your face.”

“I’m serious”, protests James, but a smile betrays the meaning.

“Can you be serious tomorrow?” Jeremy flutters his heavy eyelids open to look at James. James is turned to his side, watching him back. “Please?”

James gives a small smile. He is exhausted, but happy. Happiest Jeremy had seen him in a long time, in fact. “Alright”, he agrees gently.

They drift off facing each other with Richard snoring contently in between, alcohol warming their limbs, music in ears and stars above.


	7. The Telepathic Connections and The Final Wrap

Richard wakes up with an uncomfortably familiar pain behind his eyes and sinuses and unpleasantness bubbling in his stomach, but overall feeling pretty warm.

He also feels trapped. He opens his eyes, squinting in the late morning sun only to discover Jeremy’s arms are wrapped around his abdomen, pressing the smaller man tightly against his chest and, in front of him, one of James’ arms is entangled with his own. Richard doesn’t remember falling asleep so he wonders if his two friends are responsible for this huge fuzzy blanket all three are covered with together, or someone else was kind enough to not let the three drunk idiots freeze to death.

Richard groans, fidgeting slightly. “Jez, do you mind? Can you move, mate?”

He gets a response in a shape of an incomprehensible mumble and arms squeezing him even tighter as Jeremy nuzzles the back of his head. Must be a pleasant dream. Hopefully it doesn’t include Richard.

“James”, Richard tries. His other friend’s response is only to sigh and continue snoring.

He sighs and attempts to pull out his arm out of James’ grip, managing to do so without much effort. Then he wriggles until Jeremy’s grip finally relents and he pulls himself from under the blanket, shivering as his stomach complains when he assumes standing position.

The movement causes Jeremy to wake up with a deep, content inhale and a happy smile as he stretched. “Oh, joy… I slept like a baby.”

“Yeah, I wonder why”, Richard mutters, taking deep breaths to force the sick down.

Jeremy looks around, noting people packing up and leaving in not too great noise. Great majority already left. The other few remaining are either eating breakfast and conversing some more, or cleaning up the place.

“Come on, Slow, wake up”, Jeremy shakes James awake and pulls the blanket off him, something he gets dangerously glared at.

“You alright, Hammond?” James asks him after he finally gets up to his feet.

“Yeah, sure”, James gets a response, but just as Richard says so, he bends over and lets everything out, earning himself sympathetic pats on the back from Jeremy.

They make their way to where a few stands are still standing, but are clearly in the process of closing up and being moved.

“Hey”, says James suddenly, pointing at one passing group. “I know these guys.”

It’s the same group of college kids James watched the game with yesterday. To his delight, they recognize him, too.

“Hey!” says one of them. “It’s English and his crazy friend!”

“Morning”, greets Jeremy. “Where are you off to?”

“Home.”

“Where are you from?”

“Well, me and them are from Knin”, the young man points at his friends. “And she’s from Solin.”

“Did you just say Knin?” Richard freezes.

“Yes, it’s some twenty minute drive from here, maybe.”

“Drive?” stutters James. “You drove here?”

“Yeah.” The youngster looked puzzled, like James’ question was the peak of weird.

“You have a functioning car? That drives? That drove you all the way here?” pushes Jeremy insistently.

The young man exchanges odd glances with his friends. “Yeah, man. It’s parked right there. Along with some other cars, if you must know. I think there isn’t that much left anymore now. Everybody went home.”

“Hang on!” Jeremy suddenly begins rummaging through his rucksack. “I’ve almost completely forgotten.”

He pulls out the compass he had gotten from the kid with glasses all the way back in Zagreb. Something that seems to Jeremy happened years ago.

The needle is resting perfectly still, pointing straight north.

The three of them exchange glances.

“Umm... can we do something for you?” the young man asks insecurely.

“Yeah”, says Richard. “Take us to wherever there are cars nobody uses.”

* * *

They walk to what was an improvised car park, which is frankly just another empty grassy space filled with long dents in the grass where the car tires drove. A few cars are still there, quietly sitting under the sun, wet from the leftover dew.

“These were all here since we came here, I think”, says the college kid. “I mean everybody is gone already. And people who have stands came with trucks. I think they work alright, batteries are just dead.”

“Can you start them?” Jeremy asks.

“Of course. I have aggregate.”

Feeling the shakes coming up from anticipation, Jeremy quickly chooses a red Golf GTI sitting lonely and silent in the small row of cars. The group of youngsters connect the cables from their car to Golf, Jeremy sits in the passenger seat (with the keys miraculously tossed in the compartment) and, with a quick plea, turns the key in ignition.

The engine coughs a few times before beautifully roaring to life and Jeremy erupts into a fit of yells, feeling tears springing into his eyes.

“Yes, you did, yes!” he says, kissing the wheel. He cannot help himself.

He sticks his head out of the car, beaming at the college kids. “Thank you, thank you so much!”

James’ chosen dark blue Dacia Sandero doesn’t take long before it’s awoken as well and James laughs broadly in relief, kicking his head back against the headrest to the great amusement of their new friends.

And there’s a pretty little white Mini that Richard immediately jumps into. There are no keys, though, so he just wires it up.

With a million shared thanks, the kids depart in their car and for a few moments, the three men just sit there, feeling the vibrations of the engine and feeling the steering wheels under their hands and pedals under their feet, restoring the sensations of what it is being a driver.

Once they’re recovered, Jeremy moves first, going the way the kids left.

“Oh, yes”, he grins, shifting gears in his right hand, feeling the gorgeous resistance of the gearstick as he does so. “Thank you.”

They are on the highway in minutes and they’re cruising down it with open windows, Richard with an entire roof down, whooping every once and a while, lining up with Jeremy or James to beam at them with the brightest grin across his face, pulling Jeremy with him into a fit of healthy laughter.

Even better, the signs on the side of the highway says Split is less than 100 kilometres away. They’ll be there in an hour.

Regrettably, their phones are still dead, but just getting closer and closer to their destination is enough. Since they have no walkie-talkies in the car, they can’t communicate, but that’s fine. The expressions on their faces are just enough.

At one point, while being in front of the other two, James sticks his head out of the window, letting the sun warm his face and wind destroy his hair. Jeremy and Richard blissfully lose it at the sight.

Time goes by in a blink and soon they are off down the exit that says “SPLIT”. They see sea and traffic and life and _oh my God everything is normal here!_

Before they can ask themselves what now without GPS because all Jeremy has s a map of Croatia, not the city, there is a sign on the side of the road that makes Jeremy hit the brakes so hard Richard catapults straight into him. Seeing his opportunity, James rams into the back of the Mini with everything he has.

“James!” yells Richard.

“What? You do that to me all the time.”

“These are other people’s cars!”

“….Oh. Right.”

“Shut up, you two!” calls Jeremy out of the window in the front, pointing.

It’s one of those billboard things. And on the black background are white, thick letters saying,

**GRAND TOUR GUYS, FOLLOW THE ARROWS**

They are confused for a bit, but then on every following turning or crossing there is a sign on the side of the road with a white arrow on the black background. The more they follow them through the city, even though they blend with the flow of the traffic, they catch people waving at them in the streets and pointing their hands to where they are supposed to go.

So clearly something is going on and everybody knows it.

The trio keep following the breadcrumbs until they find themselves being directed to a big stadium on the west side of the city called Poljud. They near it and are delighted to see familiar faces standing in front of the entrance.

“Andy!” cheers Jeremy, stepping out of the car before he’s even pulled a handbrake.

“What took you so long?” Andy chuckles jokingly, returning Jeremy’s huge embrace. But his smile is genuine and relieved as he pats the oldest presenter on the back. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“See?” Jeremy cheekily grins at James. “I told you he’d be fine.”

“How did you know we’d head here?” asks James, who joined them with Richard.

Andy arches an eyebrow. “I’m insulted you question my telepathic connection with Jeremy. Remember, us two go farther back than the three of you. I knew as soon as the signal with you got cut off above Zagreb that we needed to head there. But we received a call from Slovenia that we cannot go directly there. The next safest landing point was Split. And we’ve been waiting for you here ever since you disappeared off the radar. We wanted to go find you, but local police wouldn’t let us. They said they’d find you themselves.”

Jeremy, James and Richard exchange glances. They don’t need to speak. They all simultaneously remember the train scenario.

“But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters”, Andy grins and jerks his head to the stadium entrance. “Now get in there and give the audience what they’ve been waiting for for four days.”

“What did you do?” says Richard, feeling a grin spread across his face.

“You’ll see, just go. I don’t think we can keep distracting them any longer.”

The sight they enter to is a full stadium of hyped people distributed into one giant ring mass on the stands who break into a cacophony of cheers when the cars enter, having to slow down to pass down a trail of black boards so they don’t damage the grass of the pitch. Jeremy went first, then Richard, and finally James.

“They are here! They’ve finally arrived!” booms a voice through the speakers distributed on all four sides. “Ladies and gentlemen since you have greeted them so nicely, please give them another round of applause. Richard Hammond, James May and Jeremy Clarkson!”

With worm-like slowness, because they made one big three-part worm and can’t keep from looking around at the sight, they reach the stage at the front. Jeremy jumps up on it with a childish vigour, quickly followed by Hamster while James saves them all some dignity by climbing up the stairs with characteristic slowness.

Someone presses microphones into their hands and the three men, ragged-looking, exhausted, tired, but immensely happy, eye the roaring crowd.

Jeremy senses a surge of serotonin warming up his stomach and spreading around his limbs. He turns to James with a familiar grin and brings the mic up to his lips. “Look! Look what we have here, everybody! To him this entire journey was considered a normal driving speed, but he is here for you today nonetheless, _James May_!”

The stadium responds with a boom of loud noise. James stands straight, heels together, and theatrically bows complete with a spinning hand, pride of British courtesy, but when he straightens up there is a flashing grin shining on his face.

“Thank you very much! And ladies and gentlemen, look what else we have here! Marble-sized, but equally unbreakable, a Hamster football champion for you live today, _Richard Hammond_!”

Richard happily waves with both hands, lady-breaking toothy grin brighter than the sun. He doesn’t bow, but he sends his thanks with coupled palms and waits for the crowd to pipe down.

“Now. Neither of us showered for five days, it has to be said. We all smell horrible, but somehow, this one sill manages to smell considerably worse. Old, fat, and almost completely bald. Ladies and gentlemen, _Jeremy Clarkson_!”

Jeremy beams at him at the crowd’s response, then tells them, “I’m very sorry, we had no idea you were going to be here. Actually we had no idea what we were going to do when we get here. We didn’t expect anything, but believe me when I tell you that you all are the last thing we’d ever expect, so thank you for coming.”

“That being the case, we have no idea what to do now that we’ve introduced ourselves”, says Richard, shrugging and receiving a _sforzato_ of laughter from the audience. “Seriously, we have nothing prepared for you. Do you guys have any idea what to do?”

“Well”, begins James. “For starters, we could tell them everything that we’ve been through in the past few days.”

“Oh, come on, nobody wants to hear that”, begins Jeremy, but he is already buried under loud, affirmative cheering. He mock-rolls his eyes, but from the inside is indescribably excited.

They end up telling the story exchanging it amongst all three of them, naturally making it ten times funnier by adding their impressions, bantering with each other and even making some stuff up. Then they talk about their past experiences, their plans for the future, and even play car football with their newly acquired vehicles going against volunteers from the stands — completely destroying the stadium grass in the process.

But all in all, they wrap it up all too soon for their liking.

“I’m very sorry, it’s going to be all from us”, says Jeremy. “You’ve all been fantastic to us. Every day that we’ve been here. I hope we didn’t cause you any trouble. Stay safe and drive fast. Goodbye!”

“Oh, for the record”, interrupts Richard before they descended down the stage. “We have no idea whose cars we borrowed for our trip to here, but we’ll make sure they go back to their owners, we are sorry about the inconvenience and thank you for having us use them. We wouldn’t have make it to here without them.”

They rejoin Andy outside, breathless, exhausted, but happy beyond limits.

“You ruined something that could’ve been perfect if only we knew and actually had time to prepare for it”, accuses James with hands on hips, knowing full well it couldn’t have been possible in any way.

“Don’t be stupid, it turned out perfect”, Andy responds. “Now if you’re ready, we’re going to have to go. But there’s just one more thing.”

He steps aside to reveal four familiar tiny faces standing in a single row.

“Hi, Grand Tour guys!”

“It’s our Jawas!” exclaims Jeremy, pressing mini-Jeremy against his side when the small boy jumps over to wrap his arms around his waist. “What do you say, Wilman?” Jeremy says, grinning. “Does he look like me or what?”

“He’ll be about ten times more handsome, but yes”, Andy agrees.

“How did you get here?” Richard asks them.

“With car. Our parents brought us”, says Genius, then beams them a smile. “They fixed it. And before you know, everyone started jumpstarting everyone’s car and boom! We’re here now and everything is alright!”

James approaches the kid with goggles (or better say without), giving him back the optic tools and the pouch.

“I fixed it”, he smiles and goes to give him the _Walkman_ as well.

But the small boy pushes it back with a small sad smile and gestures with his hands.

“He’s giving it to you”, says the little girl. “He has nothing to do with it anymore. His only goal ever was to make it work again.”

The same saddening grip when he was first entrusted with the _Walkman_ grips James’ heart. He nods once and expresses his thanks aloud, unsure what to do next. He’s never been good with kids.

Thankfully, the goggles kid extends his hand and James accepts the handshake. It appears formal on the outside, but somehow… it feels like so much more.

Strangely, in many ways, James thought, this deaf boy reminded him of himself.

The Jawas quickly depart, probably to do what they normally do, and are out of their sight. Andy tells them there’s a plane waiting for them all at the airport and walks away to get the crew ready to move.

“Well. This has been quite an adventure, albeit an unexpected one”, admits Richard, turning to his friends. “But I don’t think I’d like to repeat it. Once was just enough.”

“Touché”, laughs Jeremy. “I think I’ll sleep for three days when I get home.”

“Home”, muses Richard, eyes becoming distant. “I don’t know about you, chaps, but as much fun as I had in entirety, I’m immensely stoked we’re finally going back home.”

“Yeah”, James agrees, squeezing his shoulder and looking off towards the sea. “We are, too.”


End file.
